


Palaven's Dogs

by AdmiralSakai



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Reaper War, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blackwatch, Non-Evil Cerberus, Post-Reaper War, Turians, Turians-Fuck-Yeah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-06-05 05:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 69,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15164186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdmiralSakai/pseuds/AdmiralSakai
Summary: Elizabeth Shepard has vanquished the Reapers, but not before their arrival set in motion the slow disintegration of the Citadel Council. Shepard and the self-appointed protectors of the Turian Hierarchy must fight to secure their people’s futures in a galaxy teetering on the edge of civil war where old allies can no longer be counted on. Turian-centric, post-alt-ME3, rated M because war is messy. (Fanfiction.net Crosspost)





	1. Prologue - The Reaper Crisis

" _There is nothing noble about taking a course of action you believe will prevent our arrival,_  
_because that is impossible._  
_We will come, Shepard._  
_In fact, we are already here."_

 _-_ Harbinger

* * *

 _ASV Normandy-II, En Route From The Arathot System_  
_18:28, 2 December 2185 ASC_  
_Cascade Minus 81.74 Hours_

Elizabeth Shepard stood over _Normandy-_ _II_ 's chart table, looking out at the cloud of superheated plasma that had three minutes ago been a colony home to nearly four hundred thousand people. Already they were picking up comm chatter from the batarian patrol forces in the area trying to determine just what had happened to Arathot. Some were being sent to sweep the area for a possible human incursion, others - unaware of the magnitude of what had just occurred - were being detailed to render aid to survivors. By the time any of them were able to make any sense of the situation, Shepard and her companions would be long gone.

"Joker? My only question is, did we destroy it?"

"Is there a Reaper armada chewing on our asses? No? Then I think we got it."

"Good." Shepard knew she _should_ by all rights have been struggling with the immensity of what she'd just done, but some time around the defense effort at Horizon she'd found herself in a state where the hard decisions weren't _hard_ any more- if she hadn't acted when she did, those four hundred thousand batarians and a whole lot more would've been just as dead. She wasn't sure, though, if that newfound clarity was a good thing or bad.

There were alarms coming from Miranda's station at the table. Shepard jogged back down to find her XO already there, bent over the terminal she had dedicated to sweeping civilian and military comm channels for reports that had a high probability of relating to Reaper activity. "Commander, you'd… best come see this."

Shepard reached over and tapped a contact, projecting the heatmap onto the holographic galaxy floating in the map table's center. There was far more red on the display than there should have been, more of it being added every moment, radiating outward from eleven hotspots situated more-or-less equally around the spiral arms with a conspicuous gap near their present location.

"Miranda?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"What made those scientists so sure their Object Rho was the only one?"

* * *

 _Dassis Station, Menae_  
_21:57, 2 December 2185 ASC (16:30 Local Time)_  
_Cascade Minus 78.26 Hours_

"They're still pouring out of Relay Nine-Five-Two, sir! Patrol cutter was able to count at least _fifteen unknowns_ before they went silent!'

" _Reapers_ , Lieutenant," General Adrian Victus corrected the young officer manning the comms station, "They're called Reapers." And somehow, impossibly, they were coming not from outside the galaxy at all but from a little-used minor Relay only three jumps out from Palaven itself. And with the bulk of the Hierarchy's military power scattered across Citadel Space in patrol fleets and garrisons, there simply wouldn't be enough _time_ to set up another line of defense before the things made it in-system. They could try to hold Menae, or they wouldn't be able to hold at all. Maybe, just _maybe_ if they did, the Reapers would concentrate their forces at the Hierarchy's single best-defended location and leave the outlying colonies alone.

Victus had his doubts, however.

They made good time, and soon he could see them on the command center's external cameras: odd, gliding, angular shapes so profoundly black they made the empty space around them look brilliant in comparison, trading fire with the Home Fleet's formations. One of the things seemed to pause, then spat out a brilliant red beam that knifed clean through a faltering turian light cruiser and somehow despite the hard vacuum surrounding it the thing roared

**roared**

**ROARED**

and it took all of Victus's willpower to stay on his feet as every cell in him screamed to curl into a tight ball and close his eyes and just wait for it all to be over.

That cruiser had been the one carrying Primarch Fedorian back from his inspection tour on Taetrus. Victus didn't quite want to think about what that meant for him personally at the moment, but couldn't shake the feeling that the things up there had _known_.

The Home Fleet was standing strong and putting up a very good fight- he'd expected nothing less. The Reapers were slowing, breaking off to maneuver… but Victus knew they couldn't keep it up forever. Even as he watched, another of the Hierarchy's warships dissolved into a round orange fireball, mercifully silent.

Already one of the monsters was disgorging a horde of small, dark, insectoid landing craft which shrugged off the fire of Menae's surface-to-orbit guns like so much _vakar_ spit and buried themselves in a hillside off to the east. The comm stations began picking up gunfire, and screams. Someone was reporting that they could hold the position but not for long, that the hostiles- whatever they were- just kept coming and they were already taking casualties.

 _How can the Council possibly take these things in a head-on fight?_ The new Primarch of the Turian Hierarchy wondered.

 _Why did we ever think we_ could _?_

* * *

 _Vancouver, Earth_  
_10:24, 3 December 2185 ASC (02:24 Local Time)_  
_Cascade Minus 65.81 Hours_

"Sir, Reaper activity is lighting up all throughout Apien Crest, including right over Palaven. Citadel Operations reports the turians have managed to stall them, but are taking heavy losses. There's engagements with CDF troops all across the Norma Arm, and large numbers of ships are moving along the Gamma, Epsilon, Lambda, and Mu primary Relay corridors. Furthermore, while there's been no indication of Reaper activity inside the Batarian Hegemony we've been getting civilian footage from various points in the Attican Traverse suggesting that the batarians are moving out to secure independent colonies under some sort of protection scheme- there's been no official word on this one way or the other from any Hegemony source. SIGINT from the Perseus Veil is suggesting major, but relatively disorganized geth activity without a clear- wait a minute, that's a _Cerberus_ communication frequency, why are _terrorists_ forwarding intel to-?"

"Oh. _Well_ _!_ What a _glorious_ day. The galaxy may be about to end, but at least _Cerberus_ has finally seen the light..." Admiral Stephen Hackett waved his hand to silence the junior officer. "One at a time, please. How long until the force heading down the Lambda corridor reaches Earth?"

"We don't believe the Reapers are targeting homeworlds specifically, sir. Palaven was just in their way."

"Yes, and so is _Earth_. And Sur'kesh, I'd imagine. And probably Dekuuna. They'll get to the rest soon enough as well. Now how _long_?"

The officer shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "Unless we're able to slow them down somehow… They'll be at Arcturus in a little under seventy-two hours, and Earth not long after that. Sir."

"Damn. Get me Illigabeza, he needs to be in the loop on this."

"That's another thing, sir. The… Prime Minister is missing."

"… _what_."

"Security never saw him leave his stateroom on _Alliance One_ , but he's not inside. They're still conducting a search."

"Fine. Fine." Hackett dismissed the noncom with another wave and stepped back into the conference room he had just vacated, where the rest of the Joint Chiefs were waiting for him and the news they were hoping he'd bring from the civilian officials. "Gentlemen. Ladies. I'm afraid it's up to _us_ now…" He tried his best to keep any hint of distaste from showing on his features. "Us and Mr. Harper."

* * *

 _Cerberus-Occupied Collector Base_  
_04:41, 4 December 2185 ASC_  
_Cascade Minus 47.53 Hours_

Dr. Lawrence Waterhouse had to admit- a laptop in the cafeteria of a cheap habitation module awkwardly crammed inside of some sort of organic-matter-caked Prothean space station orbiting the Central Black Hole was _not_ where he'd expected to be performing the most important work of his life. It was, _in theory_ , a simple process – but then again, theory typically was. The recordings and scans collected by Commander Shepard and a few other people unfortunate enough to have come into contact with them face-to-face –and survive– suggested that every Reaper save for the one designated Harbinger essentially functioned as an 'amplifier' for Harbinger's indoctrination signal –and, more importantly, required that signal in order to act as a cohesive entity. A radical reinterpretation by the late Dr. Liara T'Soni of certain Prothean schematics recovered during the early Mars expeditions suggested a method of broadcasting similar signals using the Citadel as a transmitter, and the technology discovered on the Collector base had filled in many of the gaps. If they could use that knowledge to create an indoctrination 'jammer' the Reapers couldn't just adapt to – a well-studied problem in military communications engineering – they'd have a weapon capable of eliminating the things on a galactic scale.

At first, despite the covert addition of mainstream Alliance and later Council scientists to Waterhouse's Cerberus research team, they had been frustrated at nearly every turn by a paucity of Reaper transmissions to reverse-engineer; now, however, the Relay network buzzed with more Reaper transmissions than his cryptanalytic software could ever hope to parse, and his team would have been able under even the worst circumstances to have handed the galaxy an end to the machines' billion-year-old cycle of creation and destruction in just one or two weeks.

The downside of the flood of available data, of course, was that they no longer _had_ weeks to model, prototype, and test their solution. They had hours, _maybe_ days. By his math, looking up from his terminal for a few seconds to work the kinks out of his shoulders made Waterhouse the most prolific serial killer in the galaxy by a good wide margin. A nap was out of the question, unless he wanted to go down in the history books alongside Facinus the Cruel, Ganar Krev, and President William Howling.

They'd had the news on one of the big screens a while ago, which had helped him refine his estimates, but a few of the salarian junior researchers had said the constant listing of casualties and outposts going dark was distracting and made them nervous and was slowing down their work. An honest-to-God _fistfight_ had broken out between three or four of them and an equal number of Cerberus techs who wanted the screens kept on, and after the fight had been broken up –with precious little effort– by the base's contingent of Marines there had been no more news for the last half-hour. For all Waterhouse knew, the situation could now be much, much worse- maybe Palaven had fallen, and the Reapers had continued on into the rest of Citadel Space. Maybe _Mars_ had fallen, and the things were currently cluster-bombing Earth.

His mind was wandering again. With shaking fingers, Waterhouse extracted another caffeine pill from the bottle next to his workstation and washed it down with a swig of lukewarm Diet Tupari. Then, he got back to work.

* * *

 _Presidium Tower, The Citadel_  
_07:09, 4 December 2185 ASC (23: 55 Local Time)_  
_Cascade Minus 44.06 Hours_

In a conference room that required top-secret clearance to even know about, buried beneath three hundred tons of concrete and steel and terawatt kinetic barriers, Tevos T'sael watched for the third time as a ragtag fleet of decommissioned warships and modified freighters nearly fifty thousand strong engaged a good-sized Reaper -the things were rather difficult to fit into standard naval classifications- and blasted it to arcing, pulsating exotic scrap. The fleet blew though it with no more concern than they might have shown for a micrometeor shower, and the video flickered off to repeat once more.

"Unbelievable…" Beside her, Councilor David Anderson pulled in a slow, awestruck breath. "Imagine if we had something like this as part of the Citadel Defense Force."

"We always understood the quarians to be highly adept at naval combat, but never saw the entire Fleet in action… until now," added Erdat Valern.

"We need to get them onboard, start coordinating defense and recovery operations," Anderson replied.

"They're going to drive a hard bargain now that they know we need them. Demand reinstatement of their associate status, certainly, probably additional reparations," Tarren Sparatus cut in, silencing for a moment the earpiece clipped to his auditory tines that was no doubt relaying the latest information from Palaven High Command.

"The Asari Republics are willing to meet whatever demands they level so long as we get them on the firing line," Tevos said. "All in favor?"

"Yes," said Valern.

Anderson nodded. "Agreed."

Councilor Sparatus paused, mandibles shifting as he seemed to stare past the video display. Then, "… Very well."

Tevos nodded. "I'll have the Diplomatic Office on Thessia formulate a message."

"Good. But there's another resource we haven't explored," Anderson continued.

"The Batarian Hegemony has actively rejected all attempts to negotiate. They seem committed to the belief that they can defend their own territory without any outside assistance whatsoever," Valern cut him off.

"I wasn't talking about the batarians. I was talking about the _krogan_."

Sparatus immediately shook his head. "The Reapers are not the Rachnai, we _cannot_ beat them just by throwing expendable infantry in their path. If we could, the batarians would be _winning_."

Tevos shook her head. "We may not have a choice. Someone open me a line to CDEM Command."

* * *

 _Lower Mining District, Omega_  
_11:16, 4 December 2185 ASC_  
_Cascade Minus 40.95 Hours_

Hand glowing blue with a surge of biotic energy, Nyreen Kandros yanked a pop-up security barricade away from a Reaperized parody of a vorcha. Suddenly exposed, the thing was quickly cut to pieces by concentrated gunfire from the mixed force of Talon vigilantes and humans in white Cerberus armor sharing the fortified alley with her. With practiced attention to detail Nyreen swept the alley to either side of them for further movement. There was none.

"Kandros. This is Taylor," a human male's voice echoed in her headset. "Just locked down the last of the docking bays. No more should be getting in. Garrus, how's the transmitter?"

"Back online. Seeing a solid link to the Collector base… and the Citadel."

"Good." Nyreen replied before switching to the Talons' channel. "Now that we aren't held to a fixed location I want Vir and Cyrus's platoons to section off District Three, I want as much of this station locked down as we can before Aria gets- hold up," there was movement on both sides of the alleyway now: bipedal figures in Eclipse and Blue Suns armor. The asari at the head of the group facing Nyreen had abandoned her trademark white jacket for a more situationally-appropriate armored hardsuit, but that didn't stop the rogue Cabalist from recognizing her immediately. "Looks like _Aria's_ finally decided to make an appearance."

"You came back." The self-titled Queen Of Omega just stared at her for a good ten seconds, her voice betraying no emotion and her expression unreadable behind her tinted helmet visor. " _Why_?"

"I came here to take back this station." Kandros swallowed, hard, and tried not to let her nervousness show. She knew just by saying that she was breaking the only law Omega consistently enforced, and she knew by hard experience just what happened to the people who did that. That, and she'd never been particularly good at these sorts of speeches. But fleeing her previous employment before Aria was 'done' with her had already been an unforgivable slight in the gang leader's eyes, and Nyreen was quite frankly _tired_ of running away, "I came back to burn out a breeding ground for pirates, slavers, and only the Spirits know what else. I came back to… to give the people on Omega a chance at… a-a better life. Are you going to get in my way?"

The Talon forces behind her readied their weapons and moved back into cover with impressive coordination. They'd been nothing but a rabble of thugs and drug-runners when she'd arrived, but now… now she was willing to call them soldiers. But the humans in white armor just stood where they were. One by one, they looked to the lieutenant at the head of the group. "Kandros… Aria's here because we've cut a deal. In light of the current circumstances she's willing to allow us to operate Omega as a relay to the Collector Base indefinitely… but that's all. We aren't to… interfere in… her affairs. I guess you could say." The tan-skinned human male closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry."

He and his comrades stepped forward one by one in a ragged line, and the mercs stood aside to let them pass. Then they opened fire. It was when the first Talons soldier- a batarian who went by 'Vick'- was hit in the neck that Nyreen had had enough. She grabbed a pouch full of disruptor grenades from the armor of a dead Cerberus commando, powered her biotics, and charged head-on for Aria. She almost made it, too, before a heavy machine gunner on the rooftop up above opened up and cut her to pieces.

* * *

 _Former Location Of The Great Rayya Valley, Rannoch_  
_16:07, 4 December 2185 ASC (05:12 Local Time)_  
_Cascade Minus 36.11 Hours_

The vitrified soil of Rannoch crunched under Tali'zorah's boots as she edged her way forward along a sort of ridged metal dividing wall or conduit connecting two large towers she _guessed_ had something to do with refining titanium and aluminum. When Tali was eight years old, her father Rael had given her an educational video game where three salarian children were shrunk down to microscopic size and sent inside of various computer chips to fix them. This was a disturbingly similar experience, although that game hadn't included armies of geth collossi that shot at anything moving in their sensor fields- and, of course, it hadn't been set on the desecrated mass grave of effectively the entire quarian species. The irony was not lost on Tali that for most of her adult life she'd dreamed of walking without her helmet on the surface of this planet, but that if she did so now the thin, hot atmosphere laced with vaporized eezo and semiconductor dopants would kill her some dozens of times faster than if she'd done the same in a crowded marketplace on the Citadel. She supposed it made a blunt sort of sense, really, and wondered why she'd expected anything else- Rannoch already had an extensive industrial base the original Veil colonies had largely lacked, and even before the Reapers had turned their programming inside out the geth had probably figured they needed an army of military platforms a whole lot more than some hypothetical returning quarians would have needed to be able to breathe.

Beside her, the emissary platform the rest of the crew had taken to calling 'Legion' duplicated her awkward half-crouch-half-sprint with infuriating mechanical ease. "Creator('Tali', 'zorah')," it -they?- asked over the team comm channel, "There are behavioral indications that there exists a stimulus: 'bothering you'. Do you wish to discuss?"

Tali mentally cursed the AI for their eerie ability to read organics… and herself for giving her reservations away. "I'm just… the Reapers. There's so _many…_ "

"We are doing all we can, 'Creator('Tali', 'zorah')'. Our studies of 'Shepard('Commander')' suggest that organics perform more effectively against threats of this nature when taking decisive action, even if it may not be the optimum course."

"I… I guess you're right. We should keep moving."

"Suggestion. There is an open trench thirteen meters east-southeast of our position that will bring us directly to the hub."

"Got it." _Ancestors damn that machine for being so helpful- it's like it's dedicated to making this as hard as possible for me to do._ In spite of herself she'd found she was growing to accept- or at least _tolerate_ \- Legion during their time together on the _Normandy-II_ , and not for the first time Tali considered coming clean- just up and _telling_ it that after they had finished their development of a firmware update to innoculate the geth against Reaper control, she and Joint Operations Command's best engineers had made additional edits that would render close to ninety-five percent of all current geth platforms inoperable. It was true that few if any geth would actually _die_ because of this- Benevolent Ancestors, she was thinking of them as living things now- but beyond that the exact impact wasn't certain.

She caught herself wondering if, after it was all over and the Reapers were in pieces, Legion would be capable of forgiving her. Then she looked back out over the fissured surface and eerily luminous purple sky of the gray-goo catastrophe ten billion quarians had once called a homeworld, dropped into a low crawl with her omnitool held rock-steady in front of her, and set off for the trench.

* * *

_Dassis Station, Menae_   
_15:28, 5 December 2185 ASC_   
_Cascade Minus 28.26 Hours_

General- no, _Primarch_ Adrian Victus swallowed the last few gulps of water in his canteen. He felt that he was abandoning the forces under his command even on these small breaks away from the situation room, but he knew he'd be of even less use to them dehydrated and confused. Of course, nowhere in the command bunker offered any respite whatsoever from the constant din of Reaper low-atmosphere strikes raining down outside. It had been, he realized, the better part of a standard day since he or anyone else in Turian High Command had fought under the assumption that this engagement was going to have an _end_.

Stepping back into a situation room that smelled increasingly of burnt wiring and long-cold rations, Victus watched on one of the tactical displays as the last transponder icons faded out around another artillery post. "Dilarian," he barked to one of the communications officers, "See if you can pull a squad away from the Area Four diversionary force and take those guns back."

"Sir, there's no way Area Four can handle the Reapers with the manpower they've _got_ , much less-"

"I know." Victus shook his head. "But we can't afford to lose any more surface-to-orbit fire."

"Understood, sir."

Dilarian sounded tired. Spirits, they _all_ did, and for good reason. Nobody on High Command had believed confronting the Reapers would involve anything even remotely resembling conventional warfare, but Victus had thought that- as with the geth two years ago- there would at least be some ebb and flow to their assault as they broke off to gather and regroup, giving the turian forces time to do the same. But their assault was relentless, neverending, mechanically repetitive. They had no sense of tactics or overall plan of engagement because they needed none; every last moment his brothers and sisters spent without maintaining a pitched firefight was another moment they used to advance and it was taking its toll. No logistical unit in the galaxy was equipped to handle that kind of drain and he'd had to set up specialized details to manage ammunition and medical supplies, to rotate combat troops on and off of the firing line in something resembling organized shifts… but there were fewer and fewer places left to rotate them out _to_.

On one of the smaller display screens the blackened, listing form of a critically damaged frigate had just bellied into the Menaean regolith in an emergency landing, either unaware that the valley around them was thoroughly under Reaper control or unable to do anything to change their course. Almost immediately it was swarmed by hundreds of small, glowing, blue-gray figures as the bridge chatter coming in over the comm stations took on an increasingly panicked tone. " _Dzhe_ -Four," he muttered into his audio pickup as something large and loud struck the roof of the command center- probably just debris of some kind, seeing as he was still alive. "Circle around and assist the _Indomitable_ in repelling boarders."

"Sir, we just got off the front line, we're in no condition to-"

"Neither are those crewmen. Do what you can, the only other forces close enough to make any difference are worse off."

On a different screen entirely, one relaying images from planetside, Victus watched as another ruby-red beam tracked across the skyline of Chen Fel Han City. "That was the spaceport," a technician cut in, confirming what the Primarch had already feared. "There's no way anyone on the island's evacuating now. Sir… what do we _do_?"

"We keep fighting. As long as we can. Try… try to do as much damage. As we can. Maybe someone else… down the line. Maybe it'll make a difference. It's the only honorable thing to do."

* * *

 _Kelphac Valley, Tuchanka_  
_06:23, 5 December 2185 ASC (18:41 Local Time)_  
_Cascade Minus 21.83 Hours_

Wreav stalked through the corridors of the wrecked transport, heedless of the flickering electric lights and the constant pounding of his own forces' artillery on the surrounding countryside. He stepped over the bodies of loyalist fighters in unadorned gray armor- how did Wrex expect _that_ to put fear into the enemy?- pausing only to confirm that they were dead. There was no resistance- before the insurrection had even really picked up steam, his idiot brother had loaded himself and his most loyal, hardened troops onto an outbound transport to assist in the so-called 'fight' against the Reapers, and Gatatog forces loyal to Wreav had shot it down before it had even cleared the nearby mountain ranges.

Those troops that remained had fought surprisingly well for being little more than pups in most cases, but in the end it didn't matter. There were simply too many clans that had chafed under Wrex's de-kroganizing 'reforms' and been quick to look to Wreav as a champion to usher back in the good old days when being a krogan had _meant_ something. On any other day his brother's puppet-masters among the softer races might have come down from their monitor stations and helped to prop him up, but now that their blindness and poor decisions had come back to bite them in the form of an extragalactic invasion Wreav had given out the call to move openly. If he'd wanted, he could have had warriors from half the clans on Tuchanka at his back right now, but he'd refused. This was, after all, a family matter.

There were still two guards slumped against the bulkhead in front of the command bridge- one on his feet with a shotgun, the other sitting down with a sniper rifle in his arms. The sniper spotted him first and called out, but was too slow- before the alarm could be sounded Wreav had fired a single blast into his helmeted skull, the shockwave from the customized, overvolted Claymore shotgun instantly pulverizing composite, bone, and brains with little distinction made. Giving the weapon the time it needed to cool down he drew a serrated human-style trench knife, rushed forward, and jabbed it into the other guard's eyepiece just as he was bringing his rifle up to fire. Wreav gave the knife a twist and watched the resulting stream of blood and neuroplasm in mute satisfaction.

Wrex was waiting on the other side of the bulkhead, slumped over in what was left of the pilot's chair, covered in as much medigel as armor. No amount of the stuff, however, would be enough to reattach his right leg where it had been sheared off just above the knee. In time, it would grow back on its own. Wreav didn't intend to allow that to happen.

On one of the still-functional stations Wreav spotted an open communications link with the distinctive emblem of the CDEM patrol fleet, and turned to give his helmet camera a good clear look. "Look at him, calling out to his masters on the Citadel, _begging_ them to send down their army and save him. Is this _really_ the man who will lead the Krogan Empire back to greatness? He won't even use the _name_." Wreav snarled in the safety of his soundproofed helmet. He had no idea if that last part was true- for all he knew, the CDEM had been begging _Wrex_. But the krogan people didn't know that. He wasn't broadcasting live at the moment- he was brave, not _stupid_ , and Wrex certainly didn't need access to his precise location- but he'd be a fool if he didn't recognize that someday quite soon these recordings would be spread all across Tuchanka… and all her reclaimed colonies.

"Wreav," his brother said, his voice perfectly level and at the same time immensely tired, pausing to spit out a glob of yellow-orange blood. "Always figured you'd end up going the same way our father did." It hurt to look into those dull, red eyes, and the younger krogan found himself, unaccountably, growing nervous. Good krogan didn't _get_ nervous, and Wreav didn't much like it. One shot from the Claymore was all it took to bring him down.

Shaking free of his momentary unease, Wreav brought up his omnitool and keyed in an order to shut down the jamming system his forces had set up around the Urdnot compound. Immediately the comm panel flickered back to life, issuing forth the voice of what was either an asari or a female human. "Wrex? Wrex, are you there? We are observing an apparent crash-landing near your compound, do you require assistance?"

"We've got the situation under control, but Wrex… didn't make it. This is Urdnot Wreav, of the United Clans of Tuchanka." Despite himself he broke into a grin under his helmet. Perhaps he could broadcast live today after all.

There was a long pause, a series of muffled noises before the audio cut off completely for almost a minute. Then the voice on the other end returned. "Understood. Are you still able to provide us with troops?"

"Oh, _certainly_. Once there's a cure for the genophage in my hands."

There was another pause, longer this time. Then, "It'll take time to prepare something like that, and we're really in need of-"

"My- our terms are our terms."

"Clanspeaker… Wreav. I don't have to remind you that the situation in Council space is extremely precarious, and every moment we delay is-"

"Do you _really_ expect us to go out there and die for you when our own race has no future?"

"… We're working as quickly as we can."

"Good, good. Once a cure is in my hands… _t_ _hen_ we'll show the turians just how a war is won."

* * *

 _Planum Angustum, Mars_  
_22:28, 5 December 2185 ASC (15:02 Local Time)_  
_Cascade Minus 5.75 Hours_

"Aww, _shit_! Breach! We got a breach!"

Spectre Ashley Williams wasted no time in descending the ravine the archaeological teams had carved into the Martian bedrock, sliding the first ten or so meters and then managing a sort of controlled tumble from several bits of protruding Prothean construction to the trio of Marines already defending their MAKO armored personnel carrier from a horde of shambling, bluish-gray… _things_. From a meter behind her James Vega lobbed a fragmentation grenade into the biggest cluster of them, the detonation kicking up a cloud of reddish soil and otherwise inflicted alarmingly few casualties. Observing the creatures spread out Williams drew her assault rifle and started spraying them from close range while Vega and two of the Marine marksmen picked off the ones at her flanks with short, controlled bursts. Their ranks began to thin, first a dozen, then six, then three, but Ash knew it was a risky strategy and soon enough one of the big ones- a howling monstrosity that looked like a krogan with his dorsal hump burst open from within by a good three meters of additional coiled-up _spine_ \- took a swipe at her with luminous blue claws. She dropped prone and rolled out of the way just in time for Vega to fish a Cain rocket launcher out of the MAKO wreckage and blast the thing into chunks of putrifying flesh ribbed through with scrap metal.

"Foxtrot, this is Bearcat 1, we're reading your signal, ETA 1 mike!" A quick glance at the tacmap projected in the lower left corner of her HUD told Ash that this valley held what was left of Echo Company. Foxtrot was dug in at the power node one excavation over.

"Vega, stay here in case any more show up!"

"Aye, sir!"

Another MAKO was already pulling in through the canyon entrance to reinforce the position. Williams jinked around it without slowing down and sprinted out into the valley beyond, zigzagging between the partial cover of the blast craters that dotted the surface to such a density that many of them overlapped- collateral damage from the pitched naval engagement still occurring overhead. A Grizzly heavy assault vehicle blew past her, mulching husks and popcorn-krogan and still worse things as though they were made of cheap fiberboard before itself being cut to ribbons by Reaper air support. A few rounds from the strafing run tracked close enough that Ash was briefly thrown off her feet by the shockwave, but she scrambled back upright and kept running until she was looking overtop of a second Grizzly in a still lower portion of the dig site.

"This is Bearcat-3. Multiple targets, in the open. Three o'clock, fifty meters. Fire at will!" The Grizzly's main gun snapped once, then again, and reduced the husks advancing on a Marine fortification to the consistency of oatmeal. Then, at roughly the same time, Williams, the Marines, and the Grizzly's spotter caught sight of the black, cuttlefish-shaped craft gliding over the canyon wall. "Enemy air! Incoming! Back up, back up, _back the fuck u-_ " The carrier started to pull back closer to the walls, but it was too slow. A beam of crimson energy so bright that it hurt to look at lanced down and burnt both the tank and its crew to cinders.

Ash pushed herself forward once again, managing to get within range of the husks and bring up her rifle just as the first of them crawled over a pop-up barricade and sliced a human with a shotgun clean in half at the waist. It didn't hold together long enough to swipe at another, nor did its companions when the rest of the Marines pulled back and the grenade in the dead woman's hand went off. Williams ducked down into the trench, grabbed a discarded DMR, and started picking off the rest. That was when the tower in the center of the ruin complex lit up a brilliant, magnesium white, her HUD flickered briefly before dissolving into static, and from the blood-red sky up above the first of the Reapers crashed headlong into the plain less than a kilometer from her position.

As soon as the dust cloud thinned enough to see through, the Marines in the trench with her started to cheer- even the medics and the wounded they were tending to.

A few hundred casualties and a company or two of scrapped armor later, the press would go on to call it the Miracle of Mars. Ashley Williams would go on to call it a clusterfuck.

* * *

 _Presidium Core, The Citadel_  
_04:13, 6 December 2185 ASC (23: 55 Local Time)_  
_Cascade Minus 30 Seconds_

Commander Elizabeth Shepard dashed across the metal archway at a full sprint, even as gunfire splashed against her kinetic barriers and the Citadel pitched around her, threatening to toss her off into the chasm below. She didn't know quite how far down the hollow in the core of the Presidium tower extended, but she wasn't about to find out. All she cared about was the glowing red terminal in the center of that vast mechanical space- the terminal, and the tiny cylindrical package of Cerberus, geth, prothean, and who-knew-what-other gadgetry currently magnetized to the small of her back.

_Twenty meters…_

She brought her rifle back up into firing position and shot a trio of Keepers scuttling down the catwalk towards her without breaking stride, not bothering to watch them slide off into the abyss and detonate harmlessly before they ever hit the ground.

_Fifteen meters…_

She was taking heavy fire from something with _wings_ now, a _lot_ of somethings in fact, things she'd never seen before but that brought up vague memories from a comparative mythology course of Ardat-Athama and many-eyed Seraphim. There was no telling how they could possibly have gotten in here when the core had been sealed for millennia- for all she knew they'd been _built_ into it when the Citadel was constructed, just in case the worst should ever happen -but they fell to her assault rifle just as quickly as the Keepers had.

_Ten meters…_

Joker was yelling in her earpiece, something about the Fifth Fleet being in pieces and the Reapers pushing through. "Just a little longer," she managed to get out between breaths, "I'm almost there…"

_Five meters…_

The entire station felt like it was going to disintegrate around her now; the screams of humans and aliens over her comm rig drowning in a wash of static and a deep, resonant, metallic _droning_ that seemed to suck the adrenaline from her blood and fill her skull with something the consistency of molten lead. Shepard didn't know if it was the Core making that sound, or the Reapers closing in outside, or if it was the _same_ sound in both cases coming from two directions at once. It didn't matter. She didn't have any further to go.

With hands somehow still steady despite the vibration now kicking up billion-year-old dust from the floor around her, Elizabeth Shepard unclipped the Catalyst from where it was held on her back, slotted it into the corresponding impression in the dead center of the console, and twisted it until she heard something click.

* * *

 

 _Dassis Station, Menae_  
_04:13, 6 December 2185 ASC (02:56 Local Time)_  
_Cascade Plus 0.5 Seconds_

They'd promised Adrian Victus reinforcements. The reinforcements had never come. They'd promised him Commander Shepard. Commander Shepard had been able to assist for maybe a few hours before being called away again on something even more urgent involving the geth and Rannoch, only the Spirits knew the details.

And yet, in spite of all of that, Menae had held. _Palaven_ had held. They had held for three straight days of nonstop combat against an enemy they barely even understood. And now, from a forward command post nearly overrun by that enemy, he watched slack-jawed, as the greyish amalgams of flesh and metal that once could have been called brother and sister turians froze, spasmed, and slowly pitched forward, even as-

\- Steven Hackett and Jack Harper watched through the bulletproof one-way glastic of an interrogation room window as Daniel Illigabeza, former Prime Minister of the Systems Alliance and longtime sleeper agent of the Reaper horde slumped forward in his chair like a puppet with its strings cut, even as -

\- the assembled Councilors of the Citadel watched in 3D high definition as the mass of dark shapes congregating just outside of the Presidium ring seemed to lose definition and flake apart into a thousand constituent fragments a barely-perceptible instant before their Element Zero cores ruptured. When the plasma flash cleared, there was only empty space.

* * *

_11:11, 13 December 2185 ASC  
Cascade Plus 211 Hours_

"We now understand the process of indoctrination as a continuum," said a salarian in a crisp white medical jacket as he pointed to sections of a graduated infographic on the screen beside him, "At one end, we have complete control- the Reapers had erased whatever original personality the victim once possessed and replaced it with their own instructions. Now that those instructions have been blocked across the galaxy, subjects demonstrate little to no higher brain activity and are unequivocally considered legally dead. On the other end we have extremely mild cases- in layman's terms, the Reapers attempted to implant or suppress certain thoughts in a highly targeted manner in order to, for instance, influence the outcome of key policy decisions. We don't believe that this form of indoctrination was ever particularly common, although unless people who may have been affected choose to come forward- which may not be so simple, as the changes are not necessarily even noticeable at the level of conscious awareness- we may never know for certain. Between those two extremes we are seeing a variety of symptoms ranging from confusion, anxiety, and memory loss in the less severe cases up through depression, personality changes, and various forms of cognitive and motor-control impairment. At this time we don't know to what degree recovery is possible, nor what sort of treatment will be most effective, but through comparison to more direct forms of traumatic brain injury…"

"There _have_ been a number of confrontations in which weapons fire was exchanged," said a turian in a naval uniform, "but overall the Batrian Hegemony has withdrawn from the independent Terminus colonies promptly and more or less peaceably. We have encountered sporadic reports of looting and abuses by batarian occupational troops, but considering the generally… _confused_ political situation on many of these colonies it should come as no surprise that upon in-depth investigation many of these reports have turned out not to be credible..."

"… after all, Cerberus was formed at a time when extremely little was really _known_ about the wider galactic community," said a human in a formal tan suit, "and while the organization assumed the worst when it was unknown whether any alien species _could_ engage diplomatically with humanity, that shouldn't be construed as maintaining a belief that cooperation was impossible when evidence to the contrary emerged.

Obviously many actions taken during the early years of Cerberus proved to be immensely detrimental to both Alliance and Council security, to say nothing of the cost in lives and suffering inflicted by such ventures as Project TELTIN. However, in more recent years the organization has made good on its commitment to reform and purged such operations from its ranks, as well as reaching out to the STG and other organizations dedicated to maintaining the safety of Citadel Space. Cerberus has evolved from guaranteeing short-term human supremacy at the expense of our Council allies to strengthening us all through the investigation and research of extranormal threats- among which the Reapers are far and away the most prominent.

Now, the Reapers are no more, but it would be naive for any of us to believe that there aren't more and stranger things out there in the dark corners of this galaxy against which we must with all our vigilance and courage defend. To do that, we must have an organization with the ability to go anywhere, and investigate anything, any potential threat, no matter how fantastical- and by necessity, much of this work will need to be done in secrecy. Therefore, I have come before you all today to announce that in light of their contribution to the destruction of the Reapers the Citadel Council has agreed to grant Operations Group Cerberus the same super-jurisdictional status enjoyed by the Spectre Initiative, the Special Tasks Group, and the Ascetic Order Of Justicars..."

"… and so we must temper our celebrations with mourning. The homeworld is forever lost to us, as is any hope of reestablishing control over the geth," said a quarian in a Captain's golden suitwrap, "Yet, at the same time, the threat of synthetic invasion has been ended, the galaxy as a whole enjoys unprecedented peace, and most importantly our basic rights as sapient beings are finally being recognized by the authorities that for so long dismissed our struggle as someone else's problem. Already we've seen the arrival of the first aid shipments from the Citadel; many more are on the way. With the Counci military at our backs we no longer need fear the Terminus pirate fleets. And, while I'm not authorized to disclose specific details, I can tell you all that the Admiralty Board is currently engaged in negotiations with the intent of securing a suitable colony world within Citadel Space. It has been a long, hard exile, and we must never forget how so many turned their backs on the quarian people rather than afford us the basic decency due any intelligent being. But now I can look out across the hold of this great ship and tell each and every one of you that you will once again have a world you can call home.

We've lost Rannoch forever, it's true. But the geth and their Reaper masters could never take away the spirit of ingenuity and hard work that resides within every quarian and has made us once again captains of our own destiny. And it's that spirit that will, in a very short time, allow us to do what the geth ultimately never could. We're going to rebuild, we're going to make alliances, and we're going to _take. Back. The Veil!"_

"They came to us _begging_ for aid against the Rachnai," said Urdnot Wreav, "and we gave it. And in return they denied us the colonies that were our birthright. Then they sent the _turians_ to neuter us like ten-year-old varren. Then they sent us Urdnot Wrex with his slippery tongue and empty promises, to try to make us like _them_ \- soft. Weak. Afraid. No more.  
The Council's been brought low by the Reapers, but we are, and have always been, _survivors_. We don't need them. So what if they refuse the cure they've promised us. We can take our _own_ cure. We can take back our colonies. We can take back our _glory_. We can show those egg-breakers what it means to be _krogan…_ "

"We have all… lost so much to those _things_ ," said Tarren Sparatus, "but in doing so the spirit of every brother and sister who fell in the last three days can rest easily, knowing that they did the most noble and important thing a soldier can ever hope to do- to secure a lasting peace for the galaxy. Although the current situation in the outer colonies may seem bleak, with the aid and assistance of our fellow Council races I have absolute confidence in our ability to rebuild and continue as we always have…"

"Every member of our armed forces, those still with us and those who have passed on, deserve our absolute highest regard," said David Anderson, "as they have met this unimaginable horror and faced it down with the utmost honor and distinction. It is thanks to their indomitable spirit that we see ourselves in the position we now enjoy. Our holdings in the Attican Traverse are secure, our position on the Citadel Council is strong, and even our historical adversaries look up to us. We have finally found our place in the galaxy…"

"I cannot overstate the magnitude of the danger the Council has recently averted," said Erdat Valern, "The fact that galactic infrastructure has held together at all is an immense credit to the system of the Citadel Council and those who maintain it. The Circle of Dalatrasses understands that the salarian people are deeply divided over any number of issues, from the distribution of reparations for the Migrant Fleet to the question of a cure for the krogan genophage. However, as intelligent, reasonable beings I am confident that we can work out these issues and come to an agreement…"

"… today, we come at last to the end of a cycle of creation and destruction older than any civilization in the galaxy," said Matriarch Tevos, "It has been a long and painful journey to reach this point, and for a while we will all need to come together as a Council and heal. But the end of the Reapers will also carry with it new opportunities for growth and discovery, and it will be the responsibility of the Asari Republics to insure that those opportunities are explored peacefully…"

Sellitt Lom muted the news feed and rubbed at the ache building up in his horns. So much had happened so quickly, and he wasn't sure how to even _start_ to process all of it. In addition to the deaths of nearly fifty million people, mostly soldiers and colonists, there had been riots and looting on Sur'kesh, religious demonstrations and cult suicides and the Wheel knew what else throughout the Asari Republics; Cerberus, the go-to villain of action vids for the last two years, was now elevated to the same exalted status as the Spectres and the STG; the science channels were full of very excited talk about weaponized Ganzfeld phenomena and the Miracle of Mars and something called a 'crucible program' that had been passed down from cycle to cycle over geologic time… and to a 3D artist working at a game studio on Illium, it might all as well have happened in another galaxy.

Everyone Sellitt worked with had contacted him to confirm that they were all right within the week- although Carlos Zamora had been visiting his wife's family on Earth and was obviously having some difficulty getting his travel plans in order. They expected him back at the studio a week after that, by which time the Reapers had joined the long list of crises he and his colleagues occasionally mentioned in passing, always in the past tense. There was no more talk of the end of intelligent life, just statistics and memorials and vague suppositions that serious important people in moodily-lit rooms somewhere on the Citadel were doing whatever was necessary to keep it all from happening again.

Across the galaxy, life went on.

* * *

* * *

 

**Author's Notes:**

_Palaven's Dogs_ would not have been possible without the assistance of a large number of other writers on this site. At certain points the thing was basically written by committee, and I don't think there's a line of text in it that hasn't been touched in some way by at least one of the following people:

_Serketry_

_archangel1207_

_CunkToad_

_BatJamags_

_DapperT_

_szierera_

_DarkDanny_

_justaregularguy01_

At the time of this writing CunkToad, DarkDanny, and archangel1207 are working on projects of their own- if you're liking _PD_ , do take a look at their stuff as well. I'd also like to give a special shout-out to my fellows on Library Of The Damned, as it was one of their recommendations that got me started on this project, and their relentless scrounging of the worst of the worst of the worst of fanfiction that kept me going by convincing me that I could indeed do better.

* * *

I think it would be worth my time to mention that originally, _Palaven's Dogs_ was set in College Fool's _Renegade Reninterpretations_ AU. That is no longer the case. Instead, the vast majority of changes I have made are confined to two places- Mass Effect 3 and the Lair Of The Shadow Broker, which I thought that both were just _not up to Bioware's regular quality standards_ (or, in the case of ME3, sadly consistent with EA's regular quality standards). LotSB was I thought the culmination of many poor choices relating to Liara's character arc that dated all the way back to ME1 (as well as the introduction of a major Gary Stu race from basically nowhere); ME3 was just rather _strange_ in the way it had galaxy-scale events play out.

In addition to changes made specifically to set up the events of PD proper, and those that were made to fix issues with canon, some of them are just things I personally found appealing- I figured since I was already slicing the Reaper War into complete unrecognizability anyway, why the hell not? However, I tried to have the new version stay relatively close to the _spirit_ of canon if not what actually happened, and have good _reasons_ for all of my changes:

Killing off Liara at some unspecified point in the past (I am actually thinking fairly early on, possibly pre-ME2 if it ever comes up) was more because I knew I did not have the narrative 'space' required to properly address her character than any real dislike for her on my part. I just figured it would be better to not have to deal with her at all than to try and fail to give her character the rehabilitative treatment she properly deserves in a story where her contributions are mostly on the sidelines.

The drastic changes to the _scale_ of the Reaper 'War' occurred for three main reasons- one was simply because I thought places like Palaven being able to hold the line for _months_ somewhat deflated the Reapers' threat level; another was so that the main, _post_ -Reaper conflict of PD could occur with something other than sticks and stones; and finally just because _Palaven's Dogs_ is not really _about_ the Reapers and I did not think it was worth expending the wordcount. There is indeed more development that went into this version of the Reaper Crisis than what we see here, however, and I may explore the Reapers later on in another story.

A lot has been said about the original and Extended Cut endings of ME3 and I won't retread it all here. In my case there's the added fact that I very much did not want a super-definitive 'fix _everything_ ' ending, since PD needed to have things that could still drive conflict after the Reapers were gone. That, and I went with what was more of an obvious technological 'off button' as opposed to ME3's limping chimera of technological solution and direct military one because I happen to be a massive Manhattan Project / Bletchley Park fanboy.

I thought the geth maintaining the surface of Rannoch for the quarians was just _bizarre_ and that the sudden agreement to hand it over happened far too quickly. I still wanted the quarians to come out of the Reaper Crisis with substantial wins, but tried to make them something that it was actually in the Council Races' power to _give_. It's worth noting that I consider the very humanoid depiction of quarians from ME3 to be inapplicable along with the rest of that game; I actually had a more alien design for them outlined, but I think I will be sticking with the way the first two games handled them where while it might be relatively common knowledge what they look like _in-universe_ the reader/player never gets a chance to see them. I dunno, this is a written work, I suppose you can imagine the quarians looking like their original ME3 version or Slimer from Ghjostbusters if you want and there's really not a great deal I can do to stop you.

Conversely, the decimation of the geth was added because if you think about it the geth are _actually really insanely powerful_ and I didn't want them swooping in under Legion's leadership to just fix everything, _or_ to become a major player that would demand more attention than the organics-on-organics central conflict that I have planned for the story.

I have many somewhat small reasons for 'redeeming' Cerberus. First, they played a very large role in the original RR-centric draft and it would have been a lot of trouble to write them out completely. Second, I thought ME2 actually did a _very_ good job of presenting the organization as on a path towards some sort of _reform_ from its blatant anti-Council roots and got a bit of characterization whiplash from ME3's sudden "NUH-UH! STILL EEEEEEVIL!" reversal. I can understand why people were more than a little pissed at Shepard working with Cerberus when ME2 first came out, but after going to all the trouble of setting up an odd but very workable redemption arc for them the least the games could do is _stick to it_. Third, I've just read _waaaaay_ too many 'fics that amplify their evil to simply cartoonish levels, and wanted to do something different- I always had a soft spot for SCP-Foundation-like organizations that operate in secrecy because they face universal threats that are in some sense paranormal or outside the jurisdiction of individual nations or superpowers, so I decided to have them have been evolving towards that the whole time.

I wound up with the krogan not getting their genophage cure simply so that it could remain an ongoing conflict post-Reaper. If they'd gotten it, not a lot would have actually _changed_ other than characters would be having the same arguments they are having now but in the past tense, which I thought sounded awkward and strange (unless the krogan gestation rate is absurdly fast, it's really not possible _at all_ for anything to have changed in PD's timeframe). Again, I wanted to keep the fact that they got something they wanted out of the Reaper Crisis while the turians got hosed, but made it stuff the Council was more able to actually give.

The lack of Reapers on Earth-proper was partially to give the humans a more significant head start in terms of becoming the predominant military power in the galaxy after the end of the Crisis, but was also because I thought it was strange how they arrowed directly for homeworlds and kind of ignored the outer colonies the way they did in canon. There is a _reason_ why they then devoted so much energy to going for Palaven that will take some time to fully explain, but for now the theory most of the in-universe talking heads settled on will suffice- that it was very close to one of their exit points, and simply got in the way.

I think there is a much larger ratio of species on colonies versus those on homeworlds compared to in canon, but I don't think it will ever really come up.

PD never addresses what the Reapers actually were trying to _do_ here because I doubt it was just to create additional Reapers from humans and humans only; the subject of what they may _actually_ have been trying to accomplish I think requires more in-depth examination than the prologue could provide. However, I may end up exploring this issue with the depth it deserves in another project that while not _exactly_ in the same continuity as PD has many of the same worldbuilding assumptions.

I am basing the death toll of the Reaper Crisis (as well as other population and numeric figures used throughout PD) on the assumption that the total population of the galaxy is between about 150 and 200 billion. This is well below what I'd consider the original canonical range (some of the dialogue in ME1 mentions _trillions_ ), but was chosen so that the humans would be able to get themselves on roughly equal footing with the rest of the Council races in the 30-year timespan of the games- logically those races _should_ vastly outnumber the humans simply because they've had modern medicine and multiple colonies for so much longer, but I'm just going to wave my hands a little and say there are many cultural and biological factors that have slowed their growth (and which the Alliance is also beginning to develop, so in another 200 years _they_ won't massively outnumber the _aliens_ ). ~0.1% of the population dying violently in a single event would certainly be a lot, but I don't think it's something that would cause the Citadel civilization to completely fall apart- at least not _immediately…_

The revision of Nyreen's death on Omega was mostly dictated by the changing external circumstances of the conflict there, but also was largely inspired by a now-deleted Shepard-Nyreen story called _It Was Definitely The Red Tattoo_. Unfortunately I made the mistake of not keeping very detailed records of the thing so I don't recall the author or much other information about it, but… towards the end it got a bit strange and started pulling in a lot of animalizing elements into Nyreen's characterization, but at the same time the earlier sections had some actual, genuine _pathos_ to them and I thought it had a lot of potential. So if anyone knows who wrote the story or has any kind of lead on it, I'd like the author to know that while I understand why it was deleted, it stood out above probably 90% of what gets published here and I think a rewrite with some additional maturity and forethought would actually be quite good.

Overall, _PD_ originally had a very fast-and-loose approach to canon where I changed a _bunch_ of things basically whenever I felt like it and just tried to keep to the _spirit_ of the original game, but in this rewrite I have decided to be much more judicious- however, I do not think the story will end up holding 100% to canon regardless. However, I will do my best to make sure that any changes I _do_ perform are thoroughly documented and justified.


	2. Return To Normalcy

“ _I tip my hat to the new constitution_  
 _Take a bow for the new revolution_  
 _Smile and grin at the change all around,_  
 _Then I pick up my guitar and play_  
 _Just like yesterday…”_

– The Who, _Won’t Get Fooled Again_

* * *

_A. S. V Normandy-II, En Route to the Arcturus System  
20:36, 15 January 2185 ASC_

 

The sex ended as it usually did for them: Garrus Vakarian sprawled on her bunk, utterly exhausted; Elizabeth sitting up wide awake beside him and holding him until he could move properly again. Even disregarding the Commander’s substantial edge in cybernetics, genetic augmentation, and simple conditioning, there wasn’t a lot they could do to change the fact that turians were simply not a species _built_ for stamina the same way humans, krogan, or even asari were.

None of it particularly mattered to her, though. Elizabeth had always found his scent, his conversation, and the simple _warmth_ of his presence far more enjoyable than the physical pleasure they shared- that, and while she’d never say as much to his face, she’d always enjoyed listening to the quiet, rhythmic whistling sound he made while gasping for air and the purring of his cheekplates shifting when he finally caught his breath.

She left him to recover for a moment longer and shrugged back into her usual loose, dark-blue Navy fatigues. By the time she finished he too was sitting up, plating splayed out away from his dorsal hump and the bony keel that ran down the center of his chest. Without the ability to sweat, his only means of venting heat was to expose as much soft, blood-vessel-rich skin as possible to the cool cabin air. “I just- need a few more minutes- before I head back down,” he said between breaths.

“Take your time, I'm not going anywhere.” She laughed, briefly. “Of course, you _could_ just sleep up here.”

He shook his head once, a human gesture he had picked up sometime during his stay on Omega. “Negative- Commander… Wouldn't- be proper.” With Miranda Lawson back on Earth Garrus had taken over her position as XO, and with it the small cabin aft of the main lift. Elizabeth had tried no fewer than eight times to convince him to move up to the captain’s quarters full-time and failed miserably, despite the fact that their… _involvement_ was now common knowledge among the crew, Alliance Command, and at least one Citadel tabloid publisher.

Rather than press the issue once more, she left the big turian to recover in peace and walked back over to her desk, pulling up the section reports she'd been reviewing before his arrival. Their circuit through the interior of Council Space had been as close to a milk run as the crew would likely ever get: coordination of the burgeoning relief effort for the Migrant Fleet, meetings with the CDEM forces negotiating with Urdnot Wreav over Tuchanka, memorial services on Mars, Arcturus Station, and the Citadel, then a string of diplomatic functions and firepower demonstrations to accompany the victory celebrations on Thessia and Sur’kesh. It had been the perfect opportunity to shake down the substantial modifications they'd received six weeks ago, when the resolution of the Reaper Crisis had finally allowed the _Normandy-II_ an extended refit at Arcturus Station.

They had been able to leave the spaceframe largely intact, but very little else of the original Cerberus design remained. In between the multiple starboard hull breaches they'd sustained while engaging Reaper-seized defense platforms in the DMZ, electronic failures incurred during the assault on the Heretic Geth over Rannoch, and the comparatively minor damage suffered during the assault on the Collector base of operations nearly two months before, much of the rest had required substantial repairs and Shepard had taken the opportunity to run the vessel through a complete overhaul. While the ship had started life as a hastily-assembled Cerberus experiment built into the superstructure of a commercial luxury yacht, the _Normandy-II_ was now a proper warship- faster, better-shielded, equipped with a wider array of weapons ranging from an upscaled forward battery to wing-mounted close-action turrets, and boasting a prototype ship-scale Infiltrator mesh that served as the central component of the new third-generation stealth system. All of which, of course, meant a fresh heap of paperwork for the unlucky commanding officer.

Suddenly disinterested in her intel briefings and technical minutiae, she set her terminal to filter them out and looked over the personal messages that remained. The first was an image without any attached text, showing Ash Williams, Zaeed Massani, and James Vega in casual civilian dress sharing a table at a human-style bar somewhere with drinks in hand; after that a brief update from Kolyat Krios informing her that Thane was responding well to the experimental treatments he’d been offered by the Collector Research Initiative and would be beginning physical therapy in a few weeks; then a clot of seventy-three images showing a beaming human woman and a blonde-haired infant not yet old enough to do anything other than goggle vacantly at the camera, each one sent within five minutes of the previous and equipped with a subject line identifying the child as none other than Elizabeth Shepard Verner. After that there were a few updates from various officers on Arcturus Station and Earth, and an extremely long and dauntingly technical report from Tali describing her various new responsibilities in coordinating the Council relief and reintegration efforts on board the Migrant Fleet. Some small part of her was growing increasingly concerned about the continued lack of contact from anyone or anything on Tuchanka, but she told herself not to worry- the last message she had received from Wreav had been terse, yes, but it had also been generally positive towards carrying on his brother’s work to unite the surviving clans and make sure the Citadel came through on its promise to provide a cure for the genophage.

Some minutes later a soft electronic tone drew Shepard out of her thoughts. She banished the shakedown reports with a keystroke and summoned EDI's holographic avatar, remembering this time to prompt her by name. For privacy reasons, the AI's nearly omniscient sensor nets could no longer extend into the living quarters or medical bay without manual authorization, and even then the interface was limited to pure audio.

“Commander, I've just received an urgent video message- encrypted for your eyes only.”

“ _Really_. Who from?”

“There’s no information provided.”

“Can you trace it?”

“Working… Negative. However, that fact in and of itself tells me that whoever sent this message enjoys access to security systems _well_ beyond the reach of anything save a government agency or major corporation.”

“Thanks for the science lesson, EDI.” She tucked a few errant strands of red hair back into her usual short ponytail. “Go ahead and put it though.”

“One moment, Commander.”

EDI's avatar blinked out, immediately replaced by a high-definition video of an older turian male seated at a desk in front of what appeared to be a number of blanked-out display screens. His facial markings consisted of an orderly series of horizontal, gently curving green lines, so thin that they barely appeared on screen; his eyes were a pale excuse for yellow that against his pewter facial plating and light greyish skin seemed somehow colorless. Shepard would have considered him almost aggressively unremarkable if it wasn’t for the scars: thick, dense clusters of them, a _spray_ pattern almost, that stretched across the exposed skin of his throat before abruptly vanishing beneath his left mandible. The plates there shone a bit too evenly where the rest were dull and pitted by late middle age, and it took a moment for her to realize that much of the left side of the turian’s head was in fact composed of some sort of high-quality medical prosthetic.

“ _Shepard!_ _It’s an honor._ _I_ _wish we could’ve met_ _sooner, but this’ll have to do_ _.”_

He spoke in a smooth, even baritone, much deeper than Shepard had expected and utterly lacking the characteristic overplay produced by even the most expensive translation software- whoever he was, he knew perfect, unaccented English and had put enough time into it to make good attempts at the several consonants his species was physically unable to pronounce.

 _“_ _My name is Gul Rillek. That may or may not_ mean _anything to you, so rather than waste time with a dissection of the upper echelons of Hierarchy politics I’ll simply say that I occupy a position that exposes me to a great deal of very highly classified information. Sadly, with the current state of our military being what it is, I also lack the ability to act on much of it. Hence why I’ve contacted you.”_

He paused for a moment, adjusting the neckring of his crisp and immaculately-tailored officer’s uniform- adorned with a General’s rank glyph, no less, and a truly impressive number of honorary clips. Shepard recognized several of the more prominent ones- including a First Contact War combat medallion and the prestigious Order of Valekian- but many more were lost on her, and more importantly she was fairly certain turian military uniforms didn’t usually come in perfect, undecorated black.

 _“_ _I_ _t’s no secret that next in line for a seat on Turian High Command is_ _Fleet General_ _Tacitus Rexa. If you’ve heard of her at all it would be as an outspoken opponent of the Systems Alliance, but I never thought that was particularly fair- having spoken to her at length I can tell you that the_ _Fleet General_ _hates everyone more or less equally._ _That doesn’t matter to a group of humans who’v_ _e decided that the best way to keep Rexa out of a position of power is to kill her,_ _and_ _given the current…_ deterioration _in turio-human relations, there’s a lot more at stake here than just the life of one officer. I don’t think I have to remind you that if knowledge of this communication were to become widely available, the consequences could be…_ nasty _for both of us.”_

 _“The plan goes down during a ceremony she’ll be attending on Janus to honor the troops killed during the First Contact War- for maximum irony, I’d assume. That gives you a little over_ _forty-eight_ _hours. Good luck.”_

The video abruptly cut to black. Elizabeth sensed Garrus step up behind her, and felt his bare hand on her shoulder a moment later. “XO? Thoughts?”

“I’d tread lightly here, Shepard. That man was wearing a _Blackwatch_ uniform.”

“So, we’re dealing with a tip directly from the turian answer to Cerberus.” Everyone who had gone through officer-candidate school in the Alliance Navy knew what Blackwatch _was_ , by reputation if nothing else, even if the best human intelligence operatives had effectively no insight into the inner workings of the Turian Hierarchy’s intensely secretive black-operations and intelligence division. David Anderson had told her in some confidence the story of Desolas Arterius’s Reaper-mediated psychological breakdown; but even though that put her above ninety percent of Alliance officers in experience with Blackwatch, it wasn’t exactly informative.

Garrus noded. “Only thing _anyone_ knows for sure is that Blackwatch only has one General. We’re dealing with a tip directly from the _head_ of the turian answer to Cerberus. That has me more than a little suspicious.”

“Do you think we should contact this Rexa person directly?”

“Wouldn’t advise it: Her memoirs were required reading at the Academy; Rillek wasn’t lying about her politics. She’s not just a Contact War vet, she’s an ex-POW. Pulled out of the wreck of a light cruiser, interrogated and… _experimented_ on for about four months.” Shepard felt him tense up almost imperceptibly, blunt talons digging into her uniform. “A human officer warning her to back out of that memorial ceremony would probably just make her more determined to see it through.”

“So, what, we do nothing? What if his tip’s genuine? We both know turian counterintelligence is… well, it’s a sad joke.”

“I said I thought we should tread lightly, Shepard, not that it wasn’t worth pursuing. Could give us intel on Blackwatch if nothing else.. That, and I’ve always wanted a chance to see Janus firsthand.”

“What’s _on_ Janus that’s so important?”

“Smugglers. Pirates. A damn _land border_ with the Systems Alliance.”

“ _What?_ ”

“After the Relay 314 incident your people managed to slip an entire cruiser into Council space and set up a forward operating base. We dropped our own troops to try to take it back, and when the treaties were being drawn up nobody was willing to give away a strategic position so the Citadel had it split down the middle.”

“I’ve… _never fucking heard of this._ ”

“It never really amounted to anything. Originally the place was supposed to be a central hub for trade with human colonies, but that fell through pretty quickly when the big commercial relay routes opened. We still kept a presence there, though, first because of the risk of hostilities with the Alliance and now mostly just because of the Ossuary- it’s a… a sort of war memorial, I guess.” Garrus pushed his chest forward in his species’ version of a shrug, his exposed keelbone bumping into the back of her chair. “We don’t like to forget our history.”

“Then it’s settled.” After pulling on her boots, she tabbed open a channel to the Normandy's bridge. “Joker? I want you to turn us around and head back to Relay 208. Best possible speed. We need to make a couple of stops near the Alliance border.”

* * *

_“ In business news today stock prices are rising for Terminus shipping and passenger lines as the Citadel Defense Force reestablishes regular access to the most remote of the independent colonies…”_

 

_“The Council Industrial Regulatory Commission has recommended a fine of nearly four trillion credits for heat-sink manufacturer Helexia-Grant, as part of an ongoing anti-monopoly complaint submitted jointly by the Citadel Defense Liaison Office, Quarian Marines, and several leading arms manufacturers. Hegemony State Arms has also declared an interest in the matter, but lacks legal standing to bring matters before the Citadel Council.  
Helexia-Grant, which manufactures close to ninety-five percent of military-grade heat dissipation components for firearms and spacecraft, is alleged to have deliberately ceased manufacture of reusable heat-sinks in order to force manufacturers to adopt inferior disposable thermal clips; to buy up stocks of older permanent-sink weapons; and to actively sabotage the development of hybrid ‘clip-boosted’ weapons systems; all as part of a nearly three-year operation to secure long-term demand for replacement clips. Should the fine be approved it would be by far the largest levied in Council history…” _

 

 _“… as another insider account emerges from the failed Andromeda Initiative. In a one-hour interview with Citadel Nightly’s Thalla T’lis, project engineer Rory Graham discusses events leading up to the collapse of the project, citing major failures in top-level planning, significant technical oversights, and what he called ‘a massively unprofessional soap-opera mentality’ among both senior project staff and expedition leaders._ I’m Only Human After All, Don’ t Put The Blame On Me _, the full interview that Captain Ryder_ doesn’t want you to see _, will be available for the first time tonight at 11…”_

 

_“ Private investigators are continuing the search for freelance journalist Balthus Shul, who was declared missing two weeks ago by the Volus Security Combine. Clan members are offering a fifteen-thousand credit reward for information leading to her safe return, and state that Balthus was last headed to Omega as part of an investigation into the T’loak crime syndicate...”_

 

 _“… a Universal Entertainment spokeswoman announced today that_ Blasto Reborn _will be filmed on location aboard the Migrant Fleet by acclaimed director Nell’ketho vas Tonbay._ Blasto Reborn _will be the breakout director’s first major studio film following his critically-acclaimed reboot of the early human television series_ Battlestar Galactica… _”_

 

_“… two Systems Alliance Marine Corps servicemen were seriously injured yesterday during what Alliance sources describe as a batarian-instigated pirate raid on the independent Attican Traverse colony of Saweore. The raid was halted successfully without civilian casualties and with minimal property damage, leading several members of Parliament to question the efficacy of turian patrols and draft a diplomatic resolution calling for the Council to further expand Alliance military jurisdiction to engage threats beyond colonial borders…”_

 

_“… as a new S e rta Foundation poll finds that sixty-two percent of humans, forty-nine percent of salarians, fifty-five percent of quarians, three percent of turians, and eighty-five percent of asari support an immediate cure for the krogan genophage without further negotiation with the United Clans of Tuchanka…”_

 

 _“…_ _Dan, the impact of tonight really is not coming from the fact that these genophage protests are in any way_ violent _, just like the ones on Thessia they’re really quite peaceful, as you can see behind me the police in attendance are really at a loss for anything to_ do _and some of them are even singing along with the protesters, but it’s really incredibly rare for salarians to take to the streets at_ all _like this and I’m sure a lot of the Inner Cabinet are watching these events extremely closely…”_

 

 _“_ _Gatatog Pran,_ _star and director_ _of the controversial Extranet series_ C-SEC Green _, defended hi_ _mself in a_ Film Cycle _interview amid accusations that his_ _inclusion of a_ _romantic_ _relationship between the characters Urdnot V_ _o_ _kt_ _and_ _Palkia_ _Mer_ _l_ _a_ _s_ _sian_ _constituted ‘fetishization of_ _imperialism_ _’…”_

 

 _“_ _Really, Tallo, the sentiment among those with an inside line on the Council and- we believe- among the general krogan population is that the negotiations are a… are just a polite diversion while the asari work to bring the salarians onboard without alienating the Sys_ _tems Alliance. Really, the sense is that a cure is just around the corner and it’s only a matter of time.”  
_ " _Wreav_ _refused to_ _fight for the Citadel until he g_ _o_ _t a genophage cure._ _We took down the Reapers without the krogan lifting a goddamn finger, so as far as I’m concerned the whole deal is off_ _. Wreav can throw as much of a stink as he'd lik_ _e; what’s he gonna do, come to the Citadel and punch us?”  
“Lav, _ please- _”_  
“I see people with no clue about foreign affairs still think that warm and fuzzy feelings should matter in the post-Reaper era. At least the turians have a freaking clue…”

 

 _“… as research into recovered Collector technology promises groundbreaking new_ _drugs_ _for Vroleg’s Syndrome, Kep_ _r_ _al’s Syndrone, and Quarian Immune Attenuation Disorder,_ _sparking a surge of investment despite Helos Medical’_ _s_ _previous_ _development of_ _a_ _treatment_ _for Corpalis Syndrome_ _having been abandoned as unprofitable…”_

 

 _“…_ _the Council Reconstruction Board today rejected accusations from an organization claiming to represent the families of Citadel Defense Force personnel killed in action during the Reaper Crisis that salvage and cleanup teams inappropriately disposed of turian remains as ‘organic residue’ during the Council-sponsored cleanup of the Widow Nebula, calling the accusations ‘baseless’ and ‘clearly motivated by anti-quarian sentiments’…”_

* * *

_Alliance Operational Command Compound, Earth  
02:33, 16 January 2185 ASC (08:33 Local Time)_

In a dark, tastefully wood-paneled office suite on the 83rd floor of the Diplomatic Office in Vancouver, Admiral Steven Hackett and Foreign Secretary Donnell Udina sat watching a real-time feed of a short but heavyset quarian male in an Admiral’s gold-and-burgundy suitwrap addressing the full assembly of the Citadel Council.

“… but that doesn’t take away all the times our Fleet’s been refused protection from Terminus raiders by your military,” the quarian was saying in a soft, lightly-accented voice that was somehow drawling and melodic at the same time, “how we’ve been frozen out of all the big decisions… we’re harassed, called thieves and scavengers, _hundreds_ of pilgrims and Fleet workers are jailed and beaten by those animals you call C-SEC officers… It’s a good day for everyone when you let us come back here and speak our minds again, but these are old conflicts and a lot of quarians have lost a lot of dignity and hope because of what you did. But now that the geth are no more and we’re all moving forward, if the Council supports our Fleet when we rebuild and settle we can start to move forward…”

“Hmm.” Udina took a measured sip from the tumbler of scotch in his hand and consulted the chronometer display on his omnitool. “Three minutes without stopping for air. Impressive.”

“I thought you’d recognize a kindred spirit.” Hackett shook his head. “You know, when I first started getting reports from our embassy ship I thought this was all some sort of psychological tactic- throw us off our guard. Now I’m worried the man actually thinks like he talks.”

Udina nodded in agreement. The Quarian Conclave’s election of Dano’lev vas Seliq to replace the late Admiral Rael’zorah vas Neemah had come as a bit of a surprise to the both of them, and for that matter to nearly every pundit and state official in Citadel Space. Dano, as he insisted on being called, was a bit of an odd duck politically. As Udina understood it the ‘vas Seliq’ demonym was more of a polite courtesy than anything else, as the man spent hardly any time onboard the ship he supposedly captained or for that matter on the Fleet at all. Instead, he’d spent most of his life bouncing from one part of the galaxy to another attempting to secure trade and safe-passage deals for the Fleet, to what he claimed was great success- not that anyone had ever given him much thought as a leader until after the Reaper Crisis he’d suddenly gathered himself a groundswell of popular support with his never-ending exhortations to take the fight to what remained of the Geth Collective deep inside the Perseus Veil.

“Wonder if he gets extra oxygen pumped into that helmet of his?” the Secretary asked, awkwardly fiddling with the jacket of the crisp tan suit he’d long ago gone back to wearing in place of his awkward, uncomfortable asari-inspired ambassadorial robes.

“The Systems Alliance agrees. We’ve faced down possibly the greatest single threat in galactic history, and for perhaps the first time the galaxy really is in our hands.” The cam drones immediately refocused on the Councilors’ podiums up above, specifically on the one on the far left where David Anderson stood. “We’ve recovered and rebuilt, and now it’s time for the elder races of the Council to come clean about their past mistakes. There needs to be an accounting for _everything_ the Citadel’s done these last two thousand years, good and bad. I am more thankful than anyone that this Council has become so much more open, so much more tolerant of change and progress, that they’ve moved away from seeing the Systems Alliance and now the Migrant Fleet as threats to their supremacy and recognize us as equal partners,” Anderson shot a brief but pointed look at Tarren Sparatus on the other end of the dias, but if the bronze-plated turian noticed he gave no sign of it, “but the peaceful, democratic galaxy we’ve made can’t exist without _justice_ for all of these old abuses.”

“ _Funny_ how all this discussion of togetherness and unity features _us_ , but all the blame is placed on _them…_ ” Udina started, then quickly silenced himself after the Admiral sighed and shook his head.

It was no secret in Alliance political circles that Donnell Udina and David Anderson didn’t see eye to eye personally, and there were even sill some who thought Udina would have done a better job of filling the Alliance’s Council seat. Over the last two years they had settled into a sort of metastable equilibrium mediated by Hackett, a mutual friend- Udina had been content to remain largely out of the public eye where his acerbic nature often got him into trouble and Anderson had been content to more or less follow his lead strategically, especially when it came to their shared goal of confronting the xenophobic, fiercely militarist ‘Earth-First’ wing of Alliance politics that had fouled more than a few diplomatic initiatives in the thirty years after the Contact War.

Then the Reapers had come, and the Alliance civilian government had turned itself inside out and upside down. The newly-minted Prime Minister Kaiqi Roth was a decorated Marine combat veteran who’d promised an eager Parliament that he’d first and foremost consolidate humanity’s newfound strength in the galaxy at large, but in practice he deferred to the military brass on nearly every issue appropriate or not. In theory that made Udina- as a close and trusted adviser to the Navy’s most senior Admiral, and certainly the only such figure with actual expertise in civil policy- the most powerful civilian in human space, but with the gradual decline of the Earth-Firsters the Councilor and Secretary had been drifting even farther apart on nearly every issue. It was no secret nowadays that the Prime Minister preferred Anderson simply because of his Navy credentials, and among other things that imbalance was playing holy hell with Udina’s continued attempts to counter the claims from Citadel talking-heads that the Alliance was slipping back into de facto military governance.

If Councilor Sparatus was at all bothered by Anderson’s jab he gave no sign- instead, he continued looking down at vas Seliq and spread his hands and mandibles in an accommodating gesture. “Unlike certain _others_ in this body, the Turian Hierarchy won’t dodge responsibility for the mistakes of the past. Instead, we will do whatever is in our power to put them right. To that end, we are willing to offer the Quarian Conclave exclusive rights to an uninhabited dextro-amino garden world we have scouted for colonization. Even after the Reapers this Council possesses more than enough resources to support resettlement if we pool our-”

“Now now, I… don’t think that’s going to be possible,” vas Seliq cut in rather abruptly, earning more than a few glares from the assembled Councilors. “Our people need a place to breathe fresh air, a place where we can grow and settle and start families without the Turian Hierarchy staring inside our helmets every day. We don’t just need a place to live, we need a homeland… history and pride… we need you to let us take back the veil.”

Udina looked over to see Hackett staring at the screen with his mouth half-open. After a moment, the Admiral gave a low whistle. “He turned down an entire colony. A _quarian_! That has to be-”

“Political suicide?” Udina finished for him. “Maybe not. The hard-line Reclamationists have been part of quarian policy for decades… and vas Seliq’s their champion. This may make him _more_ popular, with his core supporters at any rate.” He scoffed. “I suppose that’s what you get for holding these negotiations in open session.”

Although the Citadel Council typically lauded its open nature, one of the nastier consequences of that policy was the degree to which its decisions tended to revolve around public opinion. Then-Ambassador Udina had tried to exploit that fact to mixed success in the years just before the discovery of the Reapers, but was increasingly finding himself no longer pushing but being pushed. The asari followed poll numbers closely for fairly obvious reasons, of course; the salarians were facing a popular movements that, while minor in absolute terms, was still something neither society was necessarily accustomed to; he didn’t have a good handle on exactly what was going on within Turian High Command but with old wardogs like Tacitus Rexa involved it likely wasn’t good; and the situation in the nominally democratic Alliance was arguably even more precarious. Constitutionally, Hackett and his fellow technocrats were subordinate to the Prime Minister, and while the public impression that the Alliance military could effectively do no wrong currently kept Parliament in line Udina had needed to remind his colleagues on more than one occasion just how quickly that support would evaporate if they came out in favor of an unpopular policy like the genophage.

The quarian Admiral was still speaking. “… I… ahh… we are really more in need of funds and basic supplies for the Fleet, at least for a while. If you could loan us food for our people, raw metals and eezo for our workshops, and of course direct funding that we can use to buy whatever we need… new ships for our families to live on… we’ll sit down with the individual Captains and work out a list of who all needs what and how urgently… and we’ll… we’ll make a deal to get everybody the space they need on the Fleet.”

Udina closed his eyes as vas Seliq, Tarren Sparatus, and Erdat Valern descended into a detailed financial discussion. He wasn’t an economist like Valern or a naval logistics officer like Sparatus, but the proposed financial support package was shaping up to be substantial- somewhere between ten and twenty trillion credits awarded to the Fleet awarded in installments over the next 50 years to a century. He recognized a play for pork when he saw it, and would have bet his right arm that the list of captains selected to receive new ships would coincide more than a bit with the ‘yea’ column on the Conclave vote to promote Admiral Dano’lev vas Seliq. Some things didn’t change much even on the Migrant Fleet.

The Secretary snapped back into focus when he heard Anderson speaking up once again. “… understand better than anyone that some CDF and C-SEC forces have been given a blank check to unfairly target politically underrepresented species in Citadel Space. I agree with Councilor T’sael that the burden of reparations should be assumed first and foremost by those who carried out the purge of the Quarian Conclave. An accounting must be made.”

“ _And,_ Councilor,” Tarren Sparatus shot back, his voice disturbingly level, “Will this ‘accounting’ indeed reach all involved? Not just the troops who carried out potentially unlawful orders, but also the officials who helped shape our policies towards the Migrant Fleet? Are _your_ people mature enough to face that level of scrutiny?” It wasn’t an empty threat. During their brief years in power the Earth-Firsters had done quite a lot to poison relations with the Migrant Fleet - contingency plans to forcibly repel quarians from Alliance space, support for anti-synthetic militias in the Terminus, and a whole host of other things - and most of it was still buried in Parliament and military records. Anderson had to know that.

“We’ll do as best we can,” Anderson responded. “ _However_ , the Prime Minister’s position is very clear that we will not be turning over human officers for investigation when the incidents in question occurred before our species even had a voice on the Council.”

“ _Unacceptable_. If you need a politician to hold your troops’ hands and keep them in line, then you’ve failed as an officer. This transparent attempt by the Council to dodge responsibility for your mistakes will not stand.”

“That’s pretty rich coming from you of all people, Councilor. The Alliance citizens I represent are getting tired of _your_ attempts to dodge responsibility for everything from the mistreatment of quarian pilgrims to the krogan genophage. If we’re going to move forward as a Council this refusal to accept the consequences of your military overreach is going to need to _end_ , the sooner the better.”

Looking over at Hackett, Udina saw the Admiral had already downed the rest of his scotch and was currently massaging at the ache building up behind his temples. It was no big secret that many in the top levels of the Turian Hierarchy felt their own position on the Council and galactic security in general were threatened by humanity’s newfound gains, but typically Sparatus kept a better lid on such sentiments in the name of the Citadel good- or at least he had back before the Crisis. Udina didn’t quite know what had _happened_ to the turian during the Battle of Palaven or for that matter what he even really _wanted_ any more, but if anything his dislike for the Alliance had grown since the Battle of the Citadel.

It probably had no small part to do with the fact that underneath a thin pretense of Council-wide unity it was no big secret that most of the Alliance government considered the Turian Hierarchy to remain their number-one political and military rival. Part of it was simply a mix of competition for influence with the two elder Council races, part of it was a string of disagreements on policy points ranging from the genophage to the declassification of Reaper-derived technologies, and part of it was just good old fashioned military one-upmanship, but with the urgency of the Reaper threat past there were more and more voices materializing in Parliament and -more alarmingly- among the military brass suggesting that turian pride simply would never allow them to accept humanity as an equal capable of challenging their military dominance. Udina couldn’t count the number of times he’d heard the phrase ‘hereditary adversaries’ bandied about by Extranet talking-heads in overly expensive suits- or, for that matter, in top-level strategic briefings. Whatever was good for the turians was bad for humanity, the theory went, and vice versa simply because the spikies were too damn _stubborn_ to have it any other way. Udina knew Hackett didn’t exactly _approve_ of that sort of thinking, but he had to admit it had gotten the Alliance to reach out to the Migrant Fleet to a degree they never would have when the Earth-Firsters had been in charge and typically Valern or T’Sael intervened before the situation in the Council chamber got too acrimonious.

That seemed to be the case now. The asari Councilor half-turned so that she was facing Sparatus and spoke in a low, measured tone. “Tarren. If… _when_ it comes to a vote, I fully expect the Council of Matriarchs to favor Anderson’s proposal, and will act to carry out their wishes.”

Then Valern spoke up. At some point during the back-and-forth he had activated his omnitool and entered a not inconsiderable amount of data; judging by the narrowing of his large, ovoid eyes he didn’t like what he saw on the holographic display. “I don’t mean to interrupt my fellow Councilors, but we all must understand that if it must fully cover these reparations, and I cannot see this investigation resulting in any other outcome, the Turian Hierarchy won’t be in an economic position to maintain its patrol fleet over Citadel Space over the next century.”

It was an oddly candid statement from the salarian, although Udina had been hearing more and more like it as of late. From what he knew of the labyrinthine politics of the salarian Circle of Dalatrasses, Donnell suspected that Valern’s time on the Council might have been running short and apparently the Councilor knew it.

Then T’Sael spoke up again. ““Tarren, the Reaper Crisis was a difficult time for us all, and we understand that if your Navy is currently unable to meet your obligations under the Citadel Defense Treaty, the asari republics _would_ be willing to offer a loan.”

Sparatus fell silent for first ten seconds, then twenty, mandibles clamped tight against his jaw. Then, “That won’t be necessary.” he shot back. “If it is the will of this Council that these measures be enforced, we will carry them out to the best of our ability. The Hierarchy _will_ pay what we owe.”

Udina had to admire the coordination between the other three Councilors. Valern and T’sael knew just where to hit the former logistical officer, effectively insulting the Hierarchy’s economy and industrial capabilities. Due to their outsized military the turians imported a goodly chunk of their civilian goods and services from the other Council species- and being somewhat poor negotiators, they rarely got their money’s worth. Having the effectively infinite line of credit that came with their position as a Citadel power they could in theory keep up that way indefinitely, but the Turian Hierarchy still technically ran a massive trade deficit and remained deeply in debt. It was a bit of a sore spot for the honor-bound species, and Udina had noticed the other Councilors weren’t shy about bringing it up in delicate negotiations.

Vas Seliq continued on, seemingly oblivious to the delicate power play going on above him. “… as long as our families have somewhere to live, and as long as we’re guaranteed the same freedoms as everyone else on the Citadel I can go back home after this session and tell my fellow Admirals ‘this was a job well done’.”

Tapping the control panel on his armrest, Udina muted the audio and brought the lights back up. It wasn’t as though there was any great suspense in his mind about how the vote would turn out.

Hackett poured himself the rest of the bourbon and stood to dispose of the empty bottle. “Donnell, _please_ tell me this isn’t going to come back around to bite us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sparatus didn’t concede to that investigation out of the goodness of his heart, obviously. What’s he planning?”

“I don’t think it’s like that. The best way to go after a turian is to tell him he’s not pulling his weight _Obviously_ the rest of the Council has that figured out and I think your man Anderson is learning fast. Nobody wants to face up to what happened to the quarians, so they got Sparatus to take the fall. I wouldn’t read anything more complicated into it than that.”

“Hm, you’re probably right. Anderson… how would you put it in a speech… I don’t know, ‘tirelessly advocating justice for the Migrant Fleet’ might give us an inroad with the quarians that we can use to get past vas Seliq’s blather, at least. Thank God for stupid politicians, I suppose.”

Donnell stood, brushed down his suit jacket, and turned to go. “Remind me again why we _want_ our allies to be fools?”

* * *

* * *

**Author’s Notes:**

Don’t expect a great deal of “Shekarian” in _Palaven’s Dogs._ The primary reason why is simply that I have precious little interest in writing relationships for their own sake and _Palaven’s Dogs_ is not a romance (holy fuck is it not a romance) . However, as part of my activities at Library of the Damned I do regularly trawl _through_ the Shekarian side of the fanfiction community, and it’s a fairly terrifying place- therefore, I wanted to… maybe not _explore_ but at least _present_ what I would consider a more functional relationship between the two that it actually based on shared responsibility and mutual respect and doesn’t interfere with their ability to function as a team or result in Garrus getting special treatment and Shepard becoming effectively worthless- gosh, _imagine that_!

* * *

 

On another note, yes I am still pissy about Andromeda. Hell, as the prologue indicated I am still pissy about _ME3_. However, I highly doubt anything related to Andromeda will ever show up in the ‘fic again. I considered doing some additional deconstruction/satire of it here and elsewhere, and then realized that I simply do not care enough to bother.

* * *

 

Admrial vas Seliq was originally supposed to speak extremely similarly to Donald Trump- very aggressive but very clear, shorter phrases, lots of repetition of specific points. However, as I started writing his dialogue I decided I wanted him to project a more sympathetic image to the Council that didn’t really fit that sort of very confrontational tone. What emerged was this odd sort of folksy, lower-key Jimmy Carter style of political mannerism where he kept the simple vocabulary but spoke in these longer, kind of rambling sentences and avoided confrontational language. I thought it was interesting and different, so I decided to make him talk like that all the time.


	3. Codex: Languages

Although the easy availability of wearable, radio-linked omnitool computers has allowed the development of convenient earpiece translator units, translation software itself often lags behind due to Council restrictions on artificial intelligence technology. Some high-quality diplomatic translators (not usually available without a government contract) provide fast and relatively accurate translation, even extending to secondary language characteristics such as inflection and emphasis, but most publicly-available software packs are limited to five or six compatible languages and frequently introduce grammatical or semantic errors into the translation. Visual text-recognition in translation is often difficult to use and can easily be confounded by partially-obscured text or illegible handwriting. Additionally, no method has yet been devised to suppress untranslated audio or text, resulting in a characteristic 'doubling' effect. For these reasons, the most common method of communicating with aliens is simply to learn a common trade language; soldiers, sec officers, aid workers, and other groups that must frequently navigate alien environments often retain dedicated organic interpreters in addition to in-helmet translation software. This process is to some degree complicated by the fact that not all species are physically capable of pronouncing the same phonemes, but this rarely interferes with comprehension and standardized approximation tables exist.

The primary official language in Citadel Space is Standard Thessian, a planned language constructed from several major asari languages shortly after the founding of the Citadel Council. As Standard Thessian is mechanically extremely simple (far more so than the still-extant asari languages that were used in its creation) and contains only phonemes pronounceable by all species, a pidgin variant has achieved widespread use in the Terminus Systems despite the lack of any central authority requiring its adoption. Speakers with no prior exposure are usually capable of achieving at least basic command of the language within a matter of days. Citizens of all Council member governments are required to learn it as part of their primary education, although individual species may retain additional official languages. Other languages are occasionally used in specific fields- for instance, most academic and technical papers are written in Yan-Tek, a salarian language with structural similarities to formal logic.

All citizens of the Systems Alliance are instructed in English during primary schooling, with Spanish and Mandarin Chinese being recognized as secondary official languages.

* * *

* * *

 

**Author's Notes:**

While Mass Effect at least admits that languages other than English _exist_ and might rise in prominence in the future, it's _such_ a common language now that I have a hard time believing that it won't be at least _one_ of the official languages of the Systems Alliance- the canon Codex's implication of humans almost completely forgetting it in favor of Lojban or Swahili or even the currently ascendant Spanish or Chinese is certainly _interesting_ , but I just very much doubt it could actually _happen_ without some sort of organized deanglification effort.

The slight 'weakening' of translation technology from what the canon Codex implies (and many fanthors subsequently run to the hills with) is partially for realism and partially to make the story better. I'm not convinced that a complete, real-time universal translator is computationally infeasible at Mass Effect's tech level (although I do have to wonder about the mechanical workings of an earpiece that apparently _mutes out_ untranslated speech but transfers all other sounds), but I do think such a device would require an artificially-intelligent understanding of semantics in order to work and it's a major point that such things are Not Allowed in Citadel Space. I also just think that having to still deal with different languages using Engrishy computer overdubbing and good-old-fashioned living interpreters better fits the less utopian, more grittily military tone of _Palaven's Dogs_ overall, that not everyone being able to afford Star Trek quality communications fits well with _PD_ 's themes of some Citadel species being more equal than others, _and_ that without language having been swept completely under the rug I am able to use who is speaking or writing what as another channel to convey meaning to the reader. Also, that was a _really_ huge sentence.


	4. Codex: Chirality

For reasons not fully understood, organic chemistry demonstrates a significant statistical preference for the use of "left-handed" amino acids in cellular life: of the twelve intelligent biological species currently known to inhabit the galaxy, only quarians and turians use dextro-amino acids in their biological processes; asari, batarians, drell, elcor, hanar, humans, krogan, salarians, volus, and vorcha all metabolise levo-amino acids. This trend appears to be universal: only about 15% of "garden worlds" surveyed within Citadel Space are dextro-amino, the remainder are levo-amino.

Although commonly referred to as an "allergic reaction" in non-medical circles, acute chirality poisoning is a distinct condition that occurs on a cellular level when cross-chiral materials are absorbed and become metabolically toxic. Although incidental exposure via ingestion, inhalation, or prolonged skin contact is universally harmless, the contamination of significant portions of a patient's nutritional intake can lead to a wide variety of symptoms ranging from malnutrition to stomach and intestinal cramps, bloating, diarrhea, internal bleeding, complete intestinal organ failure, and gum disease.

Prompt treatment with genetically-engineered probiotics are capable of alleviating the symptoms of chirality poisoning in most cases, although these alterations to gut flora typically have adverse side effects on the digestive system or its equivalents. Low doses of drugs capable of binding to cross-chiral molecules to form inert compounds are routinely taken in order to eliminate stress on the liver and kidneys when exposed to trace amounts of cross-chiral material in public environments where individuals of different species tend to congregate.

While the krogan are commonly considered "bi-chiral," their metabolic processes are in fact strictly levo-amino- this misconception stems from the presence of several varieties of symbiotic bacteria within the krogan stomach that enable the full digestion and conversion of dextro-amino materials. Periodic attempts to market products derived from these bacteria as a means of enabling other species to consume cross-chiral foodstuffs or as an improved treatment for chirality poisoning have run afoul of Council restrictions on genetic engineering and the "ownership" of sapient tissues. Additionally, levo- and dextro-amino compounds often differ significantly in taste.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I had just a _whale_ of a time trying to track down any actual scholarly information on the impact or toxicity of dextro-amino acids- apparently nobody in the entire history of medical science thought to feed rats food laced with dextro nutrients and write down whether or not they died. Eventually I _was_ able to locate a systematic review from way back in 1953 ( _Physiology of the D-Amino Acids:_ Clarence P. Berg, _Physiological Reviews_ , Volume 33: 145) which did just that. By modern standards it's rather vague, many of the cited studies demonstrate severe methodological flaws, and not having any real knowledge of the field a lot of it just didn't make _sense;_ but it describes rats being fed diets of up to 12% by mass dextro-amino materials and surviving long enough for their growth to be measured, so while switching rations with a turian probably wouldn't be very _good_ for you in the long run (and _would_ probably taste extremely odd) I highly doubt any reasonable amount of contact is going to have physiological effects. I suppose it's possible that someone _could_ develop an allergic reaction to alien proteins, but that would be rare, no different from any other sort of allergy, and no more likely to occur with quarians than with asari.

I had considered making a Thing of this, having fears of 'allergic reaction' being semi-deliberately promulgated as a way to keep turians isolated from the other races and tying into other in-universe animalization or 'dangering-up' of their species, but then I remembered I myself live in a world where people still think cellular telephones can cause cancer and there really doesn't _need_ to be any deeper reason why uninformed medical scare-stories would develop and circulate.

* * *

Observant readers will note the complete absence of the Yahg in the list up above. Once again, I really did not see the purpose of adding them in LOTSB when the Broker could've just been an AI or something; I think the idea of a non-FTL species so aggressive they had to be quarantined by the Council was _interesting_ (in fact, one of my complaints about LOTSB is that no _other_ development of the Yahg was attempted beyond it) but, like Liara, PD did not have "room" to develop them and so they became something of a sacrifice of expedience.


	5. Checkpoint Charlie

" _Seriously, though, why are we out here? As far as I can tell, it's just a freezing moon in the middle of nowhere. No Relay access in or out, the only reason that we set up an Alliance base here is because the turians've got a base over there. And the only reason the turians've got a base over there is because we have an Alliance base here. Even if we were to pull out today, and they come and take our base, then they'd have... two bases on a freezing moon. Whoop de fuckin' doo!"_

–SAMC Private Richard Simmons

* * *

_ASV Normandy-II, En Route To System K-2L  
07:18, 16 January 2185 ASC (89:59 Local Time)_

Garrus was manning the CIC when they finally reached Janus, and barely managed to make it up to the cockpit in time to catch a glimpse of the horizon. The asari diplomatic team had been the ones to actually _name_ the place, on the grounds that it referenced a figure in at least one human and at least one turian mythologic system, but they had never bothered to give either the gas giant Janus circled or the system's hot, distant, blue-white star anything other than a catalog number- and looking out over the moon's grayish, mostly overcast surface, stained here and there with vegetation and a few small, shallow seas, Vakarian found himself unable to remember what either Janus-the-human or Janus-the-turian had actually represented. Then they were through the cloud layer, flying over the sprawling collection of broad, flat, grey-and-white buildings that made up MacGowan Allied Naval Yard.

Shepard was already waiting for him at the fore airlock, clad in her favored matte-black N7 heavy armor and carrying a Navy-standard Breaker service pistol magnetized to her right hip. Garrus himself had opted to forego any armament at all, but had remembered to stash a few sticks of stimulant-fortified louza jerky in his armor's built-in pack. During the Reaper Crisis he'd learned by hard experience that Alliance military facilities typically didn't offer much in the way of dextro-compatible supplies.

"Garrus?"

"Elizabeth." There wasn't anything else to say.

Considering the obvious _age_ of the facility, the shipway and disembarkment terminal outside were in surprisingly good condition, at least as far as an open space of metal plate flooring dotted with forklifts and munitions containers could be said to have a condition at all. MacGowan Yard, it seemed, trafficked far more in cargo than it did in people. A dark-haired, dark-skinned human male -the only one of the dozen-or-so humans around them wearing dress blues as opposed to fatigues or nondescript coveralls- turned as they approached and pulled off a crisp salute. "Commander Shepard, Officer Vakarian. I'm Staff Sergeant Barrons. Colonel Schmidt asked me to show you to his office as soon as you touched down."

"Excellent." Shepard nodded, and Barrons turned smartly on one heel to begin walking deeper into the facility. The two visitors followed him through the rear of a small security checkpoint and into what passed for the civilian section of the terminal, little more than a few bargain-brand chain shopfronts surrounding a circular expanse of scuffed beige tile. A transparent dome up above admitted watery gray sunlight on a few struggling potted plants -imports, presumably, as the dextro-amino native ecology had produced nothing more complex than algae, lichen, and rudimentary fern-analogues. The center of the concourse was dominated a surprisingly vibrant holographic display piece documenting the efforts of a single Alliance cruiser to infiltrate Hierarchy-held territory, their two-week-long siege of the tiny outpost they believed to be coordinating the flow of equipment onto Shanxi, and the eventual establishment of Forward Operating Base MacGowan.

As they cut across, Garrus quirked a mandible at one of the panels. "Thought they would've taken this _down_ by now, or at least updated it. Sending an entire _Halcyon_ cruiser to seize one refueling station never really made the Alliance look like brilliant strategists." Elizabeth shot him an odd look, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just reading what the caption says…"

"Actually, those are _new_." Barrons replied, "We had them put up a week or so after the Crisis- offworld command said it'd be good for morale, since we missed out on the big headlines the guys on Mars and the Citadel got. Just because our battles happened thirty years ago doesn't mean they were any less important than the ones that stopped the Rea-" He was cut off suddenly by a loud, metallic crash from one of the storefronts off to their collective right.

Garrus snapped his head in that direction a split-second after his commander did, hand reaching instinctively behind him for a rifle that was no longer there, then immediately relaxed when he saw that the source was nothing more dangerous than a quarian in a tan environmental suit who had managed to overturn his chair at the cafe counter. The cafe's sole other visible patron, a brown-plated turian female wearing vaguely familiar facial markings and a military hardsuit, stepped over to help him to his feet only for the quarian to scramble backwards against the counter and yell "You keep away from me!"

The asari manning the counter was over to the altercation a moment later, one hand glowing orange with a holographic interface and the other clamped none-too-gently around the turian's forearm. "You're scaring my other customers. If you don't leave on your own I'm going to have to call base security." The turian's mandibles twitched as though she were going to say something, but the attendant cut her off before she could. "Look, do you want to talk to me, or do you want to talk to the MPs?"

"I'm really sorry about this, sirs, could you just give me a moment to-" Barrons made to step towards the cafe, but Shepard was already on the move.

"Actually, Staff Sergeant, _I'll_ handle this. Garrus, can you get things started with the Colonel for me? I'll have security escort me the rest of the way when I'm done here."

"Certainly." Considering the nature of their mission and his C-SEC background- to say nothing of the fact that with his post-Reaper citizenship promotions anything he said carried the implicit weight of a statement from the Turian Hierarchy itself- the two of them had already agreed that Garrus would be doing most of the talking anyway.

"Uhh… yessir, whatever you say, sir…" Barrons said to Shepard's already-retreating back. He then turned back to Garrus with an expression the turian had particular difficulty making much sense of. "Does she… does she do that all the time?"

"This is _nothing_. I remember back during the Collector incident she had Miranda Lawson and I running up and down the Citadel because some quarian got accused of pickpocketing and we had to clear her name." The two of them started walking again, out the sliding glass doors of the concourse and onto a sort of quadrangle made of equal parts whitewashed concrete and tough, brownish grass. The unprocessed Janusian air here was chilly and damp, sunset masked by ominous gray clouds that promised rain. Garrus's armor was heated, of course, but that did precious little for his exposed head and neck.

Barrons didn't seem bothered, but then again humans didn't really seem to be bothered by a lot of things. He kept talking as he led the way to a larger, taller, glass-fronted building on the opposite side of the greensward. "Kind of puts things in perspective, doesn't it? Actually, you and the Commander are probably the most interesting thing to happen out here in the… I dunno, last five years? This place used to be pretty tense back before we got a Council seat, you know- we thought there was a real chance the Hierarchy might try to come over and seize the base."

Some hundred meters further a wire fence separated the greensward from tarmac. The purpose of the ammunition crates Garrus had seen inside suddenly became clear as he watched two squadrons of Alliance interceptors, painted with red and blue wingtips as though split up for exercises, being loaded with… "Are those _air-to-surface_ shells?"

The human nodded. "Since the Crisis we've been doing a pretty good number on the countryside around here. Can't let you guys forget you're going up against the Alliance Navy, you know?"

Garrus bit back a sigh of relief as they stepped back into a heated interior. "Sounds like an improvement over five years ago, at least."

Barrons flashed his omnitool to the MP manning the front desk and turned down a drab white-paneled hallway. "Yeah… I dunno… well, no offense, sir, but I don't think you guys are gonna be taking over anything any time soon."

Garrus wasn't quite certain _how_ to respond to that. "I'll… convey your sentiments to the Hierarchy."

"I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean it like that. Sir." The human stammered, but Garrus was saved from having to formulate a diplomatic reply by their arrival at a sliding door at the end of the hallway, set apart from the others by a vertical gold stripe. "The desk sergeant's already told Colonel Schmidt that the Commander will be delayed. I… won't take up any more of your time."

Garrus took a moment to straighten the neckring of his armor, trying to swallow the tightness building in his gizzard. He'd known that diplomatic relations between humanity and the Turian Hierarchy had become somewhat more tense as of late- or, more accurately, had never really _stopped_ being tense despite the common threat of the Reapers and the Alliance's ascension to full Council representation- but he'd held more than his fair share of cross-jurisdictional briefings while working in C-SEC, many of them involving human military officers, and he was confident the base commander would be able to help. After all, tensions or not they were still allies… right?

* * *

Colonel Yangfan Schmidt turned out to be a tall, broad-shouldered male with close-cropped hair mixed from equal parts black and iron gray. Although he had never quite mastered estimating human ages Garrus would have placed him somewhere in his mid-to-late sixties, which combined with the distinctly "Shanxified" name indicated to Vakarian's detective's brain that he was likely a Contact War veteran- and judging by both the impressive number of medals in the glass case on his desk and the long, faint, razor-thin scar slashed across the bridge of his nose, a rather formidable one at that. He'd noticed the Alliance's tendency to put such people into positions where they would interact closely with the other Council species- something the Turian Army and Navy tended to avoid, with officers like Tacitus Rexa being a rare exception- and found himself perversely flattered that the humans thought Janus was worth the constant attention of such a decorated combat commander.

"Garrus Vakarian! Your reputation precedes you!" the human practically growled, but there was warmth behind it. He stood and held his hand out in a common gesture of greeting, and Garrus briefly clasped it in his own. "It's a shame Shepard's been delayed, I wanted to thank her personally for what she did on the Citadel- my granddaughter's stationed there, you know." He shrugged and dropped back into his chair. "So, what've you got for me?"

Settling with some awkwardness into one of the office's spindly human-style chairs, Garrus crossed his arms over his keelbone and leaned forward. "Shepard and I are pursuing a tip on a potential political assassination."

Shmidt tapped at his desk's haptic interface to wake his terminal, and called up a list of what looked to be patrol and intel reports. "Suspects? Target?"

"Don't have a suspect profile other than members of some kind of human-supremacist group, but we've got a target and a location. Fleet General Tacitus Rexa, during her speech outside the Janus Ossuary. Soon."

"Oh. I… I see." He leaned back in his chair, terminal forgotten, and closed his eyes for a few seconds. "You're talking about a situation on the _turian_ side of the planet."

"That's right." Garrus was briefly confused by the Colonel's answer before experience reasserted itself and filled in what was likely going to happen next. This wasn't the first time he'd had this conversation with an officer representing a non-Citadel jurisdiction, and they always went more or less the same way. Still, he supposed there was no dishonor in trying. "We could use Alliance intel on missing equipment, recent personnel transfers, disciplinary incidents…"

"I'm afraid that's really not possible. This sounds like an internal turian problem, and MacGowan Base really isn't here to solve those. I'd suggest that you take it up with your… _superiors_ in the Hierarchy."

"Colonel, this _could_ turn into a major diplomatic incident-"

"Officer Vakarian. I've read quite a bit about your career, you know. My impression of you is, and has always been, that you're an honest and forthright man, so I don't think I need to mince words." Schmidt leaned forward again, bracing his hands against his desk. "If the Turian Hierarchy causes another diplomatic incident, you cause another diplomatic incident. God knows it wouldn't be the first, and with Councilor Sparatus carrying on like he is it won't be the last. It _also_ won't be the last time a turian dies needlessly because of their damn stubborn _pride_. If you want to keep that from happening, I'd suggest trying to get General Rexa to cancel her rally, because I'm not going to be able to release classified intel to what is for all intents and purposes a… a hostile power. Admiral Mikhailovitch'd nail my ass to the wall for that, and I've got kids and grandkids in uniform I need to think of."

Today was shaping up to include a fair bit of what humans occasionally called _deja vu_ \- first the odd familiarity Garrus had sensed from the turian on the concourse, and now the certainty that he'd heard Schmidt's exact words- or something not too much unlike them- from the Extranet talking-heads. Probably more than once. Still, the man had indeed been more upfront with him than any of the liaison officers he'd worked with in C-SEC, and Vakarian figured he was worth at least one more shot. "Would it help if Shepard was here instead of me?"

"Vakarian, we _both_ know the first thing she'd do with that information is turn around and tell you." The human male shook his head, suddenly seeming much less _experienced_ and much more simply _tired_. "I… wish I had something else for you."

Two years ago, Garrus Vakarian might have gone behind the Colonel's back and swiped the intel he needed directly from the Alliance database; or maybe held the man at gunpoint until he handed over the reports or something else equally dramatic. And then there would have been consequences- if he was lucky, only consequences that came back to bite _him_ and not anyone else, but probably not. So instead, he just dipped his head in a human affirmative gesture, told Yangfan Schmidt "I understand", and walked out of the office.

* * *

_Alliance Naval Operating Base MacGowan, Human-Occupied Janus  
07:28, 16 January 2185 ASC (09:09 Local Time)_

"So, let's go over this _one more time_." Hands resting on her armored knees, Shepard looked from the quarian customer, to the asari barista, and then back to the quarian again, morbidly transfixed by the way his tan dress shirt and the yellow wool vest he wore overtop of it clashed with his ridiculous, lime-green necktie. She'd seen an increasing number of quarians recently wearing human-style clothing over their environmental suits, and wasn't quite sure what to make of the trend. "You're saying that Captain Argovigian said hello, sat down at the counter, and asked what you were doing on Janus."

"Umm… y-yes." The quarian spoke in an unsteady, reedy monotone; mechanically flat but lacking any recognizable Khalish accent- either he had a shitty in-helmet translation system, or an extremely _good_ one and was deliberately trying to disguise his voice. _Weird_.

Shepard turned next to the turian who was slouched against the cafe's glass front- female, judging by her somewhat more rounded hip structure and the narrower, tighter arrangement of her cheekplates, jaw, and lateral tines. Although shorter and stockier than Garrus, she still cut an imposing figure next to the two bored-looking Marine MPs who were presumably there to detain her. Her eyes were green, _intensely_ so, and the lower sections of her bronze facial plating were half covered in intricate, almost mechanical-looking markings- all thick bars and forty-five degree angles- of the same light buttercream color as the skin underneath. She was unarmed, at least that Shepard could tell, but her heavy Army-issue body armor bore a deep blue rank glyph marking her as a member of Recon, the elite tier of the Hierarchy special forces. Next to it a small, almost illegible line of Turii characters had been stencilled into the greenish armor plating: "Oxius Dalkeekar Dzu Xi Zori Usar'gatek" - _Only_ _T_ _he_ _D_ _ead_ _G_ _et_ _C_ _lose_ _E_ _nough_ _T_ _o_ _R_ _ead_ _T_ _his._

"Yeah, that sounds about right," the turian said, "He was dressed like somebody important, so I figured he might be plugged into the Embassy staff." The translator overdubbing wasn't nearly enough to mask her accent, the sort of rough, heavily-flanged Turii that Elizabeth was slowly learning to associate with the thick bundle of industrial and agricultural colonies that made up the broad middle of the Hierarchy, but the voice underneath it was a surprisingly warm contralto. "I wanted to know if he'd heard anything about human-supremacist groups operating on Janus, but he said he didn't have that information."

"Mmm _hmm_." Shepard filed the connection away for further use, but the Recon captain wouldn't be of much help if she ended up getting arrested for assault. " _And_?" She turned back to the quarian.

"I… err, mentioned that I was working with- with one of our liason officers on a salvage operation handling scrap over the Citadel, and she yelled… I don't know, something about dead turians and money and then she took a swing at me."

"Huh. I thought you said she _pushed_ you before. So, Captain? Is that what happened?"

"No!" Adgovigian's mandibles clamped tight against her jaw. "I just… I dunno, I was trying to get my omni open and he kind of flinched away and I reached out and he fell off his stool."

"So." Shepard turned to the cyan asari in civvies and a green apron- "Kally", going by her nametag. "Did you _see_ any of this happen?"

"Uh." Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. "No. Uh. _Sir_. I was over at the sink."

"Ok, well, did you _hear_ a turian yelling anything?"

"… No. No I didn't."

" _And_ , when it was just her word against his, you decided to kick her out."

"… Y-yes?" 'Kally' was now trembling slightly. A few weeks ago Joker had taken it upon himself to invent the term _Shepard-shock_ to describe this sort of reaction from the public. Elizabeth had scoffed at the time, but now she was beginning to come around to his point of view.

"I could understand if you'd done it to the _both_ of them, but… well, I guess you probably figured he was a paying customer and she was just here to _make trouble_ _with the quarians_. Am I right?"

"No. I mean… y-yes. Sir. It… won't happen again. Sir." Somehow, Kally got a few shades paler. Shepard hadn't known asari could _do_ that.

Both of the MPs turned to look at each other, the slight, almost imperceptible bobbing of their heads giving away the conversation that was occurring over their helmet mics. Then, the shorter one turned and waved at Argovigian, sighing into her audio pickup. "You're free to go. Sorry for the trouble. And, Miss Dallinos? The red button behind the counter is for _real_ emergencies. Keep abusing it, and we'll be having a chat with your manager." She followed her partner out the door.

"Yes, well, _I'm_ having a _chat_ with Liaison Officer Tika'raan!" The quarian picked up a slim metal briefcase he'd stashed under the counter and stalked out as well.

Shepard gave him a jaunty wave. "Good luck with that."

The turian remained where she was standing and nodded to Shepard. "Thanks for helping me out of that one, Commander. It… wouldn't be good if I got my name on an Alliance incident report right now."

"Yeah, I sort of figured." Shepard stepped over to a nearby bench outside on the concourse and waved Argovigian over. "You mentioned something about human-supremacists. _Assassins_ , maybe?"

The Captain didn't respond immediately. Instead, she stepped over to join the Commander, pivoted her head to scan over the entirety of the otherwise-empty concourse, then sat down and muttered under her breath, "How the _fuck_ do you know about that?"

"Why do you think I'm _on_ this moon?"

"Well then I suppose I might as well level with you- you're _Commander_ _fuckin'_ _Shepard_ , after all." She leaned back and pulled in a long, thrumming breath. "I'm heading up security for Admiral Tacitus Rexa. She's here for an inspection tour and ceremony at the Ossuary, and I'm worried-"

"- you're worried she's going to get shot by a group of human-supremacists."

"Yeah. I don't have a lot that's concrete- just intercepted smuggler chatter and a lot of guesswork. But there's not too many humans over on the Council side of this place, so I figured I'd take a look around over here. I wasn't figuring I'd get caught up in… whatever the fuck that quarian was trying to pull."

"Well it might just be your lucky day after all. I've got Garrus talking to Colonel Schmidt right now, and-"

As if on cue, Officer Vakarian stepped through the concourse's sliding glass doors, Staff Sergeant Barrons conspicuously absent. Surprisingly, Captain Argovigian stood, waved him over, and called out "Garrus! Hey, _Garrus_!"

Garrus stood for a moment without saying anything, mandibles twitching against his cheekplates as he tried to place the newcomer. A moment later, he made the connection. His mandibles dropped outward again as he stepped forward and took a wild, friendly swing at the other soldier's chest, forcing her to twist out of the way. " _Teron_! Never thought I'd run into _you_ on an Alliance base." Then he turned back to Shepard. "Elizabeth, this is Teron Argovigian. She's an old buddy of mine from military service, spent a lot of time sparring with her in fact. I had reach, and-"

"And I had flexibility, yeah. Are you still telling that stupid fucking joke?"

" _No shit!_ ," Shepard cut in, "And yes, he's _still_ telling that stupid fucking joke."

"It's not a joke, it's a _story_. And I saw you in the cafe earlier, but I guess I just didn't make…"

"Don't worry about it. It's been, what, fifteen years? I only recognized _you_ from that interview you did with Citadel Nightly."

" _Spirits_ , don't remind me. Anyway. What are you _doing_ here?"

"You might not believe it, but I got assigned to Tacitus Rexa's personal security detail. Commander Shepard's been filling me in on the potential threats to the Admiral; you get anything from Schmidt?"

Garrus dipped his head in a turian negatory gesture, mandibles tucking inward. "Just Council politics. Args?"

"Nothing here. And I _really_ don't want Rexa to know about this, or she'll try to get High Command to come after the Alliance again. That's why I came out here first, instead of digging around on the turian side. Fuckin' great idea that turned out to be."

"Well, time's wasting." Shepard cut in, "I don't think we're going to find anything over here, not in time to do anything about it. Can you get us into the turian compound?"

"Fuck yeah."

* * *

_Commerce District_ _,_ _Janus Free Port  
08:55, 16 January 2185 ASC (10:36 Local Time)_

Specialist First Class Dianna Faur shifted uncomfortably in her too-soft leather armchair, scanning the room for potential hostiles and for the sixth time coming up with nothing more threatening than a floor lamp. In the action vids, deals with skullface weapons merchants always went down in poorly-lit landing bays or the private VIP lounges of swanky nightclubs, not in ratty little offices on glorified freighter-stop colonies somewhere far south of the ass end of nowhere.

She'd tucked her old service pistol into the pocket of her drab civilian jacket and stashed an assault rifle in the trunk of their aircar outside, in the theory that the meeting could well have begun with their respective delegations pointing guns at each other. But, if anything, the pair of turians sitting across from the fake-wood conference table from Falo and herself had been weirdly _nonchalant_ about the whole affair. Currently the head of the smuggling operation- an older, charcoal-gray female in an ugly blue suit- was watching as her male assistant fiddled absentmindedly with the catches on his boxy silver briefcase. "You were… saying?" the alien finally rasped.

After a long, tense moment Falo broke the silence with his customary slick confidence. "You know we're going to need to take a scan before we pay for this."

"Help yourself." The skullface woman- 'Voramak', the placard at the front desk had said her name was- made a weird gesture with one hand, and her assistant slid his briefcase across the table. There was another awkward, tense silence before Dianna realized she was expected to open it herself, and she tried not to let either of the turians see how badly her hands shook as she undid the clasps. Inside, nestled in black polymer foam and wrapped in thin plastic foil to prevent flaking, were a pair of hollow metallic hemispheres that shone a dull purple-blue-gray.

The ex-Marine held her breath and adjusted the thick gauntlet of her engineering omnitool, setting the device into mass-spectrometric mode. The readout showed plutonium and element zero in exactly the right mixture- any less, and the device would never push past criticality; any more, and the repulsive effect of the generated mass-effect field would scatter the plutonium into useless powder in the few critical microseconds before it could work its magic on the fission process. Next, she activated the tool's Geiger counter. Their number-one concern had been that the skullfaces would try to stiff them by adulterating the warhead with the cheaper plutonium-240, which was volatile enough to explosively scatter the material before proper compression could be achieved- a 'fizzle', it was called. But its telltale radiation signature was absent.

She turned to the batarian sitting next to her. "It's good."

He activated his own, much slimmer wristband of an omnitool and pressed a single icon. Moments later, Voramak's own device gave out a short electronic blip and she read a few values off of the display. "Pleasure doing business with you," she said.

Diana would be the first to admit that, even though she'd never actually _met_ a batarian face-to-face until relatively recently, she'd held to the fairly common Alliance military sentiment that all a human needed to know about the species had been learned on Mindoir and Elysium. But Falo Cramen did not honestly seem like a bad _sort_ to her. In fact, it was the kid's willingness to abandon what was by all accounts a cushy inherited fortune on Kar'shan and add his voice -and nearly bottomless bank account- the fight against quarian infiltration that had allowed her group to move from disconnected Extranet rabble-rousers to an effective force capable of taking direct action. In fact, while most of her comrades had been wronged personally by the suitrats in one way or another, even if it was something as comparatively minor as getting ripped off by one of their so-called 'pilgrims', Falo seemed to operate out of genuine concern for the fate of the galaxy in general. _He'_ d never been bounced out of the Corps for _daring_ to suggest that the 'rats shouldn't be welcomed back into Council Space with open arms after their synthetic Frankensteins had killed more good, honest people than had died in the goddamn Beijing Riots; never been handed a bottle of pills and three months' light duty after _he'd_ watched the things gut _his_ buddies on Eden Prime with those weird, slick metal spikes that pumped them full of blue hellfire and set them twitching and howling and running back like suicidal puppets with claws that could cut right through armor and flesh and bone-

"Faur? _Faur_." Falo's voice snapped her back to the present, and Diana realized she was starting to hyperventilate. She hoped neither of the skullfaces had noticed- she'd heard they were shit at reading mammalian facial expressions, at any rate.

"Sorry. Just… going over my readings."

"I was asking how you planned to get this thing through the Relay," Voramak said.

"What's it to you?"

"Well, for another thousand credits, I could put you in touch with the same pilot who brought it down here…"

* * *

_Thirty Kilometers South Of The Alliance-Turian Border, Janus  
09:14, 16 January 2185 ASC (10:55 Local Time)_

There was in fact a high-speed rail line connecting MacGowan base to the turian half of Janus, but it hadn't been operational in nearly fifteen years. Shepard wound up requisitioning a MAKO from the base vehicle pool and driving it along the trackbed.

Captain Argovigian could have gotten the _Normandy_ docking clearance at one of the turian facilities- after the Reaper Crisis the turians probably would've happily allowed it even _without_ her help- so in theory they could have simply flown; but that would have raised questions with Admiral Rexa and her staff that Shepard _really_ didn't have time to answer at the moment. It wasn't as though they weren't making good time on the ground- the concrete railbed cut flat and straight across empty Janusian tundra, and Shepard rarely needed to drop the speedometer below a hundred k-p-h.

For the first ten minutes or so she, Garrus, and the Captain were treated to the mildly surreal experience of Systems Alliance fighter-bombers conducting endless airstrikes without any clear target- true to Sergeant Barrons' word, in the absence of a real enemy the human forces on Janus were doing quite a number on the landscape. But around forty klicks away from base the fireworks petered out and the three of them were left with only the tundra and each other for company.

"So," Teron finally spoke up from where she sat in front of Garrus in the gunner's seat, "What clued you two in that something was going to happen here?"

Looking over at her, Elizabeth shrugged. "I… made a promise I wouldn't tell anyone. That, and I don't think you'd believe me if I _did_ tell you."

Teron just made the low, trilling noise that Shepard had learned to recognize as something between a cough and a chuckle. "You're Commander Elizabeth _fucking_ Shepard. I'd believe you if you said the _Reapers_ told you."

There was something large and dark up ahead on the horizon. Shepard slowed the MAKO to a more reasonable seventy-five k-p-h, then fifty as the object resolved itself into an entire complex straddling the railway. The blocky gray forms of Alliance prefabs were filthy, overgrown with vegetation, and collapsed entirely in some places, but her trained eye could still pick out familiar shapes and patterns- barracks, blast walls, platforms for heavy anti-personnel guns, and quite a lot of vehicle bays. A few metal placards near the tracks were still readable, stating in English, Turii, and Standard Thessian that all incoming trams needed to stop and prepare for a full inspection before they would be permitted to pass into Council territory- inspection for _what_ , it wasn't stated. Then they were driving past rusted-out fences, decaying concrete barricades, and an honest-to-God _no man's land_ of concertina wire that separated the Alliance complex from a similar agglomeration of buildings painted in Turian Army green.

Shepard gave a low whistle. "I had no idea anything like this was even _out_ here. Wonder what it was like to run this place." Over her admittedly long and varied career, the Commander had gone up against quite a variety of opponents, but she realized now that the one constant had been that she had always known more or less who was hostile and who wasn't before she met them face-to-face: locate the enemy, secure any valuable assets, wipe any threats out by whatever means were most expedient, rinse, repeat. The men and women staffing this checkpoint hadn't had things quite so clear- they'd gone on shift every day able to look over and _see_ their turian counterparts doing the exact same thing, with no way to predict when something offworld would kick up hostilities again and they'd end up shooting at each other… or not.

She imagined that most of the time manning a post like this would have been profoundly _boring_ , but that only made the question of what exactly everyone had _done_ here all the more pressing. Had they _talked_ to each other over that no man's land; swapped stories and bitched about stupid decisions from higher up the food chain? Had they coordinated whatever security operations they were responsible for? Shepard knew that Alliance troops assigned to the Citadel Defense Force and other joint Council efforts frequently started trading vids and exotic liquors and all sorts of other things. Had that happened here? Or had they both just stayed on their own sides of the border and _glared_ at each other, an up-close and personal version of the policy of mutual isolation that seemed to be normal operations here fifteen years later?

Garrus coughed from the troop bay behind her, and Shepard realized she'd been creeping along at sixty k-p-h for nearly five minutes even though the ruined checkpoint was already fading back into the indeterminate gray distance. She also realized that was the first noise he'd made since they'd left MacGowan. "Hey," she reached behind her chair and rapped his armored knee with the back of her gauntlet. "You've been quiet. What's up."

The male turian just shrugged. "You and Args- _Teron_ \- seem to be getting along all right. I didn't want to mess that up."

"Oh." She shot Teron a confused glance before the realization dawned. " _Ohh_. You're worried I'm gonna go all _Fleet and Flotilla_ on at least one of your asses." Really, it should have occurred to her at the start. Turian culture had a very _structured_ understanding of relationships, with very clear ideas what was meant by pair bonding and starting a family versus sharing a bunk and 'blowing off steam' versus the right-about-square-in-the-middle connection she'd fallen into with Garrus. It was a very clear and _logical_ system, and as soon as it encountered 'complicated' species like humans it pretty much all went straight to Hell.

Garrus had confided in her once that most turians never fully got a handle on human romance, found it difficult to imagine how humans could maintain a professional fighting force despite it, and- good soldiers that they were- tended to assume the worst. In this case, the worst obviously meant an experienced naval officer misconstruing a single encounter twenty-odd years ago as sufficient cause for jealously and paranoia and all sorts of other hard-to-deal-with things.

"Guys. It's OK." Shepard looked first to Teron beside her, then to Garrus in the cockpit's rear-view mirror. "The human isn't jealous, I know how you guys handle this stuff, and, Args, I'm glad you've got our backs on this." She was getting good enough at reading turian mannerisms now to catch the tension leaving her companions' frames, but only just. "Hey, when all this is over, how 'bout the two of you go out and get a few drinks on the _Normandy_ operations budget. Catch up a little."

For a moment Teron seemed to consider it. Then she tilted her head forward and tucked in her mandibles in a negatory gesture, posture stiffening once again. "I... don't really think that's a good idea. Politics, you know."

Shepard could tell Garrus was disappointed, but she figured there was more than enough time for Argovigian to change her mind once lives weren't in danger. The rest of the ride passed in something that was a close approximation for companionable silence, but didn't quite match the real thing.

* * *

_South Road Entrance, Janus Free Port  
11:36, 16 January 2185 ASC (13:17 Local Time)_

They made it to the turian side of Janus a little after local noon, a full four hours before Fleet General Rexa's scheduled observance and following presumable demise. The city up ahead- if it could even really be _called_ a city and not just the physical antithesis of coherent urban planning- could have passed for a rock-bottom port anywhere in Citadel Space: all concrete and corrugated sheet metal, everything a freighter crew might need or want on stopover offered substandard and dirt cheap. This one, though, was dotted with recognizable turian military installations every dozen or so blocks, the greenish polysteel and simple, utilitarian construction incongruous next to flickering holograms of asari poledancers.

Shepard had expected there to be at least some sort of checkpoints set up to regulate road access to and within the settlement, but the turians seemed to have effectively zero presence on the streets. A pair of _Deamul_ light gunships shadowed their MAKO closely from the air before Teron muttered a string of code-words into her omnitool and sent them gliding back to wherever they'd been deployed from, but that was all. The extranet searches she had run during the _Normandy_ 's flight in had mentioned that while the Turian Army was responsible for the _upkeep_ of 'Council Janus', the place was administrated independently as a free port and Hierarchy personnel made up less than ten percent of the total population. It showed.

The track they were following soon enough led into a particularly turian-heavy area that _was_ checkpointed, although the armed guard outside the barricades simply waved them through without stopping to check for further identification. It wasn't like there were other Systems Alliance Marine Corps MAKOs driving around the area, after all.

The area inside was neatly organized but surprisingly _small_ , scanner towers and command bunkers stuffed in between civilian office blocks to conserve every centimeter of apparently premium space. At the far end, Shepard could just make out a rocky coastline, water the color of old cast iron shining dully in what little sunlight leaked through the cloud layer.

"They tried to expand the compound a few times since the Treaty," Garrus spoke up, obviously anticipating Shepard's line of questioning, "but the areas near bases have a lot less crime, so no one wants to sell."

From the seat beside her, Elizabeth's enhanced hearing caught Teron muttering something that sounded an awful lot like "Fuckin' parasites."

A small crowd of onlookers formed as the MAKO pulled to a halt, turians in a roughly even mix of armor and the bright, dichromatic tunics preferred by administrative staff. Most of them kept a respectful distance as they watched the party disembark, but a six-man squad in security armor stepped forward as soon as they caught sight of Teron and snapped to attention.

"Status?" the Captain asked.

The ranking guard, a junior lieutenant with bright yellow facial markings, brought his left arm across his keelbone in a Turian Army salute. "We've cleared the surface out to four blocks and two quadrants of the sewers, Squad Four's working the rest. The locals are making a lot of noise about it, but there's not a lot they can do."

"And Rexa?"

"Being driven in from the east landing pad. We're… taking it as slow as we can."

"Good work." Argovigian turned back to face Shepard. "I'll try to stall the General out here and update you on her position when I can. My men know you're here, so other than wherever Rexa's at you've got the run of the place."

"I'd like to see where Rexa's going to _be,_ actually."

"That'd be in front of the Ossuary. Straight ahead three buildings, then down to the right. Can't miss it."

_That term again…_ Elizabeth hadn't had time to look much beyond the official Alliance Codex plugins on the flight in, and aside from mentioning it as some sort of war memorial those entries didn't really seem to know or even much care exactly what the Janus Ossuary _was_. But true to Teron's word, a short walk down the street brought her and Garrus to a small plaza tucked between two satellite uplink facilities. It was dominated by a single structure, a collection of boxy, dark gray metal-and-plastic prefabs draped with brightly colored banners in abstract geometric patterns. "That's an ossuary?"

"That's _the_ Ossuary."

"Can we… go inside?"

Garrus paused for a moment, mandibles flicking in and out. "Who's stopping us?"

* * *

The Janus Ossuary was much _bigger_ than it had looked from outside, especially surprising considering the closeness of the complex surrounding it. What Shepard had originally considered the whole of the installation was in fact simply a sort of lobby or antichamber that connected to multiple other prefabs in a radial weblike pattern a good three layers deep. Each was octagonal, around six meters to a side and lit by what appeared to be Army-issue construction lights wrapped in more of that same jewel-toned silklike cloth from the exterior. In the middle of each a small censer of some sort of incense burned on top of a quick-extend tripod, producing a dry, dusty, oddly soothing odor that brought back memories of Elizabeth's boot-camp days in the deserts of American Southwest. In the prefab she and Garrus were currently occupying the tripod had a pair of turian soldiers facing it, kneeling with their heads bowed against their chests. Thick rubber mats kept their armor out of contact with the scuffed plastic floor. If they were even aware of the _Normandy_ officers' presence, they gave no sign of it.

The walls of both the prefabs and the short hallways connecting them were lined with rows of sealed plastic compartments half a meter or so wide, each stamped with a two-dimensional portrait, two or three lines of text indicating names, ranks, and units, and occasional printouts or mementos presumably left be relations. The plastic was fairly transparent, and as Elizabeth looked more closely at the nearest she was surprised to find that it contained a mostly intact turian _skull_ , a single large-caliber bullet hole visible in the forehead plating.

"Garrus?"

"Hmm?"

"I thought you guys _cremated_ your dead."

"We do. But we save the bones and plate left over. I know your species has a… _thing…_ about sending bodies back to their families for burial, but we make a trip to the nearest ossuary to where someone died to collect… fragments, I guess you could call them. Then the rest gets interred."

"I… I've _never heard about that_."

"It's not like it's a big secret, the information's on the extranet. But… I guess, most turians don't wear them out in the open, and _I_ haven't worn any since before we met. Used to have one from my mother, but I put that back with the rest the day I started military service. It's customary to do that… make a second trip… after you've moved on."

"Wait a minute," Shepard was beginning to put the pieces together, "Wait a minute, so, if you guys want to be buried close to where you actually _died_ , that means…"

"This place has everyone who died in the Contact War, yeah. We… should've built it _on_ Shanxi, but obviously that wasn't possible. If you could give me a minute… Garrus stepped past her and dropped down onto a spare mat in the center of the room, closing his eyes as he sank into the same posture as the two soldiers. "I always hoped I'd get the chance to do this, someday."

After a moment's hesitation Shepard decided to join him.

* * *

_ICV Cramen Lines – Celaeno IV, Exiting Low Orbit Over Janus  
11:43, 16 January 2185 ASC (13:24 Local Time)_

The cramped, dimly-lit cockpit of the bulk freighter _Cramen Lines –_ _Celaeno_ _IV_ was much too small for Diana Faur to pace properly, and so she had to settle for keeping a white-knuckled grip on the back of what had until recently been her chair. She knew the lead-lined compartment they'd installed further back in the crew module wouldn't block _all_ the scan signatures of their newfound weapon, but she also knew that stick-up-the-asses though they were the skullface patrol cutters didn't search or even scan _every_ freighter entering or leaving the system- they simply didn't have the ships or manpower. That was what had made this freezing little moon such an attractive layover for smugglers in the first place. It was just a matter of monitoring the cutters' habits, trying to determine what sort of ships they scanned and what sort they didn't, and timing one's departure accordingly- and doing all of that _without_ hanging around in low orbit and looking all sorts of suspicious. Fortunately, whatever _else_ Faur might have had to say about the young asari -Siria, she'd said her name was- currently occupying Diana's typical spot at the controls, she certainly seemed to know what she was doing.

"See that volus ship docked to the cutter?" the alien said, pointing at a conjoined sensor contact on the cockpit heads-up display. "If the spikies found something they'll call in reinforcements and we'll have to make another orbit, but if not…"

The skullies were taking their sweet time doing whatever it was they were doing onboard the volus ship, and Diana began to worry they would need to make another orbit regardless. But, finally, the two contacts separated, one heading out-system to the Relay and the other hanging in place. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

If you think I'm laying it on a little thick in this section with the whole 'turians versus the big bad galaxy' schtick… well, you're absolutely right. Turian-Alliance and turian-Council relations aren't _good_ post-reaper, but the sort of casual racism on display here is very much an anomaly. There is indeed a _reason_ for it, however, and all will be made clear in a few more chapters.

* * *

I believe I've mentioned previously in various conversations that I think the canonical 'Nyreen style' female turian design looks, to use a specific and highly technical xenobiological term… _stupid_. In the original draft I made the turians effectively not sexually dimorphic at all under the idea that the female ones had been around us the whole time (I always thought their general design looked kind of androgynous anyway) but that got extremely weird and a bit Tumblr-y very fast so I decided to do what most authors do and just retcon female turians in.

I don't think I'll ever go into exacting clinical detail within the body of the story about how their sexes differ other than what was described here, but I am generally basing my idea of what they look like off of a DeviantArt user named Madam-Sparkz who did some OC designs I thought were fairly reasonable. I actually encountered her page thanks to a certain terrifyingly awful Shekarian 'fic I riffed on Library of the Damned that she really didn't deserve to be associated with; another DA user named FlamedWing also put together some pretty decent, polished anatomical sketches that I am using as a secondary reference.

Although, again, it's a written work so I really can't _force_ you to think about my template or whatever. Ultimately, it is not a big deal.

* * *

The 'Turii' language here is not a complete constructed language (as such is quite frankly beyond my skills to create), but it _is_ generated in a deterministic fashion from English using a half-computerized half-pen-and-paper algorithm that involves first machine-translating a phrase into Arabic (chosen because of its grammatical dissimilarity to the Latinate languages; it does have a fair number of English loanwords, but they are modified to fit the grammatical structure and later steps filter out the similar roots), reversing each word syllable-by-syllable, and then exchanging each syllable for a different one based on a substitution table. This creates a language that is easy to manufacture more vocabulary for and resembles nothing remotely terrestrial, but has an internal structure and self-consistency that just made-up words would not.

Its use in this chapter was something of a test run; I don't plan to use it heavily in the future because adding in a ton of alien vocabulary for things that already have perfectly good English translations serves no real purpose other than to make the story harder to read; I will probably end up only using it for some specific proper names and concepts sufficiently alien that they don't have so much a translation as an _explanation_ when rendered into English.

* * *

The fate of Garrus Vakarian's mother is curious. Everyone involved in PD has a clear and unambiguous interpretation of the Shadow Broker dossiers mentioning her, but zero agreement on whether that clear and unambiguous interpretation is that she is still alive or has died. I decided to go with the 'died' option because it was faster to write about (I kill a lot of characters I don't have time for… a bit scary, now that I think about it) and because many of the 'fics I read that have her alive make her kind of pathetic and not at all the sort of person who would have raised Garrus. In the original draft she didn't die of Corpalis at all but rather in the line of duty while working as a police officer on Palaven (which was what prompted Daddy Vakarian to transfer to C-SEC and move his family to the Citadel), but I thought this was an unnecessary change to canon.


	6. Codex: Recon

Recon (Turii: _'_ _Leeku_ , from _Sakleeku_ , 'Reconnaissance') is an elite branch of the Turian Army roughly analogous to the Alliance N-7. As the name implies, it was originally formed during the early Water Wars period as a high-risk reconnaissance division; however, the intervening centuries have seen the group's responsibilities expand to include a wide range of special-operations roles including hardened-target infiltration, hostage rescue, asset recovery/denial, and precision infrastructure sabotage. The original name was still retained in a manner analogous to the historical Army Rangers and Special Air Service.

Recon units are small, extremely mobile, and relatively autonomous. A group of five scouts is more than capable of operating independently within hostile territory for weeks or occasionally months without interaction with other units, scavenging additional supplies as necessary. This ability makes the force relatively unique within Turian Army doctrine's general emphasis on large-scale coordination and support. However, unlike similar human forces, Recon personnel are often also embedded within other, more conventional military units for longer periods to provide additional support during particularly high-risk operations.

Recon and conventional Turian Army reconnaissance units provide much of the Hierarchy's intelligence capacity after the gradual dissolution of the generally-disliked Hierarchy Intelligence Division following the Unification Wars; 'Plainclothes' intelligence tasks including undercover operations and psychological warfare have traditionally been provided by the salarian STG, but an increasing number of analysts believe that more such work is now being performed internally by the reclusive Blackwatch organization.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Recon grew entirely out of a contorted interpretation of a single line of dialogue in ME2's Garrus romance arc- I had already created most of the character for Teron Argovigian and I wanted to give her a connection to the canon characters by making _her_ the nameless sparring partner Garrus mentions, but I realized that her role within her new unit and her personality in general didn't really mesh with her having served as a literal reconnaissance scout. So I made "Recon" not a description of her job but the name of the organization, and built that organization up into something that could fit her eventual in-story capabilities while still plausibly having the name.

Given _PD_ 's standard policy of never letting canon get in the way of a good story I'm not sure why I went to such lengths instead of just changing what Garrus said, but later on I decided I liked to think of all of my additions to turian physiology and culture as being equally applicable to the canon _Mass Effect_ games as written (at least up to 3) so I guess that turned out rather well.

I'm not 100% sure how Recon 'embedding' with conventional forces actually works; I just wanted some explanation of how Garrus (a non-special-forces naval infantryman) was able to spend as much time working with Teron as he apparently did. I suppose they could have just been on the same ship pursuing different missions, but I decided to keep it around as a way to enable Teron and her fellow scouts to string along with whatever weird thing Shepard happens to be pursuing at a given time.


	7. Prompt Critical

" _Truth is the first casualty of war."_

– Human Proverb

* * *

"They're all _warm_ _ed up_. That's freaky."

" _You_ want Shepard asking why these guys don't have a fuckin' thermal signature?"

"Where _is_ Shepard, anyway? Siri's gonna go for the drone any minute."

"She and Garrus just went in the Ossuary."

"Wait, _inside_ it? _Why_?"

"Fucked if I know."

"Well, you got any idea how to get her out?"

"Just had my guys let Rexa in. If _that_ doesn't flush her out I don't know what the fuck will."

* * *

_Turian Army Base 'Janus Central'  
11:45, 16 January 2185 ASC (13:26 Local Time)_

" _What_ in the name of…"

That wasn't Garrus's voice- it was feminine, dry, sandpaper-rough and surprisingly quiet. Shepard snapped back up to a standing position faster than most species would have been able to _see_ , catching her helmet by force of habit and reaching for her pistol.

The speaker turned out to be a tall, gaunt turian woman, whatever facial markings she may have had unrecognizable against tan plating pitted by age and countless decades-old scars. She stood ramrod-straight a good twenty centimeters taller than the Commander, but her olive-drab light body armor couldn't quite hide the telltale ribbing of the powered braces supporting her legs and midsection. Elizabeth didn't need to look at the long series of insignia and honorary chevrons pinned to her chest to realize who she was speaking to- and who she'd very nearly pulled her sidearm on.

"Fleet General Rexa. I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"I got enough excuses from the Captain outside. I really don't need any more." She snapped her left hand closed, hard, around a small medallion on a thin silver chain she was holding- a medallion that Elizabeth realized was made from polished turian bone. "I heard about what you did on Menae, Shepard. And I don't _care_. A galaxy full of dead Reapers won't bring back any of my brothers and sisters that _your_ people put in here."

"I'm not-"

"I'm going to ask you politely one. More. Time." The old turian gestured back at the Ossuary entrance, through which Garrus and the two other visitors were already making a hasty retreat. "Just… _go_ , and leave us all in peace."

* * *

_ICS Cramen Lines – Celaeno IV, Outbound From The K-2L System  
11:45, 16 January 2185 ASC (13:26 Local Time)_

"Commercial transport _Cramen Lines –_ _Celaeno_ _IV_. Please decelerate and prepare to take on search parties," a flanged voice crackled over the bridge comm station as the flattened arrowhead shape of a Turian Navy patrol cutter grew larger and larger outside.

"You _said_ they wouldn't scan any more ships!" Diana Faur reached out to shake the asari pilot's shoulder, only for a flash of biotic energy to bat her hand away. Siria hadn't even needed to look up from her controls. "We need to get moving!"

"If you want to dash for the Relay and its dozen other military craft, be my guest. But _I'd_ much prefer to stay alive." The pilot's tone booked zero argument as she calmly and carefully brought the _Celaeno_ around, heading directly _towards_ the turians. The skullfaces, for their part, seemed to have been expecting exactly that and continued moving slowly forward.

"Are you _nuts_?" In addition to their bomb the _Storm King_ was carrying a small armory's worth of merc-grade boarding equipment in case they needed to make their way into the interior of the Migrant Fleet by force, and for a moment Faur thought the asari was planning to somehow seize control of the cutter when it docked. But that theory evaporated as soon as they started to _accelerate_.

"Commercial transport, you are coming in _too fast_. Please decelerate and we will come to _you_." The turian cutter was still holding in place, although it had turned about to face them and was powering up its weapons. "Commercial transport, this is your final warning. Decelerate _immediately_ or we will be forced to open-"

Siria gave the throttle a final shove forward, then just as quickly cut the main engines completely and pitched sharply _upward_. The _Celaeno IV_ spun around its center of mass, flipping the much smaller crew module close to a hundred-and-eighty degrees even as the hundred-times-greater mass of the attached cargo section kept them barreling right _towards_ the Navy cutter.

Faur quickly ended up with her ass on the grubby metal deckplates as first one, then another bone-rattling shockwave tore through them. Structural elements groaned and squealed as seemingly every alarm on the bridge went off at once, followed by a few nauseating seconds of blind weightlessness before the lights and artificial gravity switched over to auxiliary power. The ex-Marine stumbled to her feet, spitting out blood and what felt like a not-insignificant chunk of a tooth, trying to focus on the main status board through the pressure that refused to abate from behind her eyeballs. Half the cargo section was reporting depressurization and major structural failure; the other half was just… _gone_.

None too steadily she rounded on Siria, who had already flipped the safety cover off of the section of hardwired controls controlling the cargo-crew linkage and was rushing through the separation procedure. Diana hadn't even known this model of freighter could disengage cargo while it was still in flight. "Are you _crazy_?!" the human yelled, "Akande was down there! You can't just… just… he's _dead_ , goddammit!"

"Well, _yes_." As the crew module parted company and began to accelerate again under its own power, lurching nauseatingly as the asari waved at a rear camera feed. "Him, and about a dozen spikies too." The turian cutter must have finally gotten the message and tried to move out of the way just before impact, as while pretty much the entire left half of it was a mess of ruined scrap there was still a recognizable _wreck_ \- a wreck, and judging by the royal blue corona of frozen blood that appeared when the distant sunlight hit it from just the right angle, not much else remaining of the crew.

There was a lot of panicky chatter coming in over the comm receiver, and the sensor displays were already showing the bright contacts of other control ships closing in on their location. They were picking up speed again, pulling the much lighter and more maneuverable crew module into a spralling corkscrew trajectory to avoid the first blasts of incoming gunfire.

"That was different. Casualties of war," Diana ground out.

"Really. Because it seems to me like they both just made the mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time." Siria shrugged, seemingly unperturbed even as gunfire streamed past one of the cockpit windows.

Diana knew this was probably not the best time to be bothering their pilot, but goddmmit she wasn't going to let the loss of another fellow soldier go unacknowledged. "Akande was trying to _help_ us!"

"Yes, and I'm sure those skullfaces thought they were, too. It's a rough galaxy, Specialist. You may as well get used to it now." For some reason, they weren't heading for the Relay, but rather back down to Janus. It was slowly starting to dawn on the ex-Marine that she was very much no longer in control of this situation. "The turians can just pick us off at the relay or out on the tundra, but if we ditch somewhere near the city we _might_ be able to lose them. Now, if you want to make yourself useful, get aft and bring everyone up to speed."

* * *

_Turian Army Base 'Janus Central'  
11:47, 16 January 2185 ASC (13:28 Local Time)_

Jogging back out into the Ossuary courtyard, Elizabeth realized immediately how Admiral Rexa had made it past Teron and her security people- the Captain clearly had other things on her mind.

"Shepard! Garrus! We got a problem!" Args motioned to the holographic tactical map being projected from one of her men's omnis, currently displaying five or six contacts marked with yellow Hierarchy chevrons closing in on a single bright-purple glyph that was itself drawing perilously close to the rendered Janusian surface. "One of our patrol cutters just dropped out of comms on a routine stop. Now we're picking up wreckage and we got a contact heading _right_ for- fuck _lookOUT_!"

Teron and Shepard both dived to the ground as something metallic and incredibly _fast_ shot through the cloud cover directly overhead, the eerie silence of its passage broken by the shattering roar of a sonic boom a full two or three seconds afterward. As the assembled forces got to their feet it circled around and made another pass, this time traveling slow enough to be recognizable as the fore section of a civilian bulk freighter with its braking thrusters firing at full-tilt before it disappeared below the skyline and made a muffled, drawn-out crash.

Argovigian's left hand went immediately to the small receiver unit clipped to one of her auditory tines. "Squad Four says they've got a visual on where that thing went down- abandoned freight yard about four blocks east-northeast of here. Ceera, think you could spare the Commander and her friend some proper guns?"

* * *

_I. C. S. Cramen Lines – Celaeno IV, Entering Turian Airspace  
11:47, 16 January 2185 ASC (13:28 Local Time)_

Faur was just starting to recover her equilibrium when they hit atmosphere, the crew module shaking and rattling as it pulled through a complicated series of combination braking/evasive maneuvers that its designers had never in a million years considered. The low, bumpy Janusian skyline swerved past the cockpit windows first in one direction, then another, then was heading directly _at_ them for a few terrifying moments before Siria leveled them out and cut the lift thrusters completely. They dropped into something that could only barely be called a controlled crash, kicking up a fountain of sparks as the module sheared off its own landing gear and skidded across a section of open lot dotted with garbage and a few armored turian corpses- wait, _corpses_?

"What the _fuck_?"

Diana stared, open-mouthed for a good few seconds trying to parse the grisly scene outside. That was when the asari pilot next to her unzipped the front of her bulky flight suit, demagnetized a Carnifex heavy pistol from the light military body armor she was wearing underneath, and shot the ex-Marine square in the head.

* * *

_Area Six Freightway, Janus Free Port  
11:50, 16 January 2185 ASC (13:31 Local Time)_

"Dellius, any luck on bypassing that lock?"

"I think I just- wait, it's opening on its… _down_! _Get down!_ "

"Del's hit!"

"No! Just-"

" _Run_! I'll cover-"

" _Fuck_! We just _lost_ half the first-response squad!" Teron yelled, as the comm signal broadcast from her omni dissolved into screams and gunfire, then eerie silence.

"'Lost', what do you mean 'lost'?" Shepard replied through gritted teeth as she spun their MAKO through yet another ninety-degree turn down a refuse-choked service road.

"I mean they're fuckin' _dead_! That freighter's got some kind of anti-personnel guns on it, cut the boarding party to shreds!"

"What in- Can we get _gunship_ support?" Garrus cut in from the copilot's seat beside his commander.

"Negative on that one. There's human fighters hovering _all along the DMZ_ , and we're picking up live missile batteries. We don't want to provoke 'em, otherwise we'd've had surface-to-orbit fire on that freighter as soon as it got in range."

"What the _hell_?" Elizabeth glared at the blinking dot that represented their position on the cockpit display screen, willing it to advance faster. She couldn't fault Args' aerial streetmap for accuracy, but all that did was confirm there was no easy way to get where they were going. "Garrus. Any luck on raising Schmidt?"

"Nothing." He tapped a few more commands into the MAKO's comm panel and frowned at the results. "I don't get it. They're receiving us, they just keep sending back error packets with no error code! It's the same with the _Normandy_!"

" _Dammit_! Wait-" She slammed on the brakes, yanking them to a halt in front of another, narrower, even grimier alleyway between two sheet-metal warehouses. It was too narrow for the MAKO by about a third, certainly, but according to the map only about fifty meters through to the crash site while the drivable road looped around for another several hundred. "I think we can get through here!"

The three of them disembarked as quickly and quietly as they could, Captain Argovigian unslinging what might once have been a Claymore heavy shotgun underneath its assorted heat-sinks and tune-up mods while herself and Vakarian made do with borrowed Phaeston assault rifles. Shepard took point, padding at a half-jog down the alleyway. Halfway down it jinked to the right for a few meters; she skidded to a halt and leaned around the corner, only to jerk her head back a split-second later as a hail of gunfire splashed against her helmet shields.

"Shepard! Look! Up there!"

Teron waved to one of the electrical transformer boxes jutting out into the alleyway and Elizabeth wasted no time in clambering up on top of it, then onto a section of protruding drainage pipe and finally up onto the outbuilding's grimy sheet-metal roof.

She dropped flat and pulled herself forward until she could just see over the edge. The freighter's crew module had skidded to a halt against the concrete wall on the opposite end of the yard, completely blocking the main entrance and leaving about a thirty-meter stretch of mostly-clear asphalt between it and the alleyway- asphalt dotted with armored turian bodies and a few ominous patches of royal blue. The crew airlock facing them had been jammed nearly closed, but something that very much resembled the barrel and targeting system of an SAMC heavy gun turret protruded from the opening and tracked slowly back and forth. Stacking up well away from the hatchway hadn't been enough to save the turian forward party- with that gun's nearly hundred-eighty-degree field of fire, they had done everything right and still hadn't stood a chance.

Shepard brought her Phaeston into firing position and squeezed off a few shots that bounced harmlessly off of the tinted plexiglas of the hatch's top section, cursing herself and Garrus under her breath for charging off without bothering to pick up a rocket launcher or even a few hand grenades.

"All right," she muttered, silently praying to whoever was listening that her shields, armor, and metallized skeleton could hold out against automatic gunfire long enough for her to get off a few shots in return. "Garrus, Args, I'm going to need to two of you to draw their fire as long as you can. Gonna try and jump down and- _wait!_ "

Two of what Shepard had mistaken for turian bodies slumped behind a shipping container were up and moving around- a tall, heavyset male with a sniper rifle clipped to his dorsal hump and a much thinner female, both of their features obscured under full-body hardsuits. The female's left hand glowed indigo with leaked eezo radiation and she reached out to her companion, his kinetic barriers briefly flaring with additional power. As Shepard watched, incredulous, the sniper sprinted flat-out for a bundle of steel I-beams halfway across the tarmac and marginally closer to the crew module, heedless of the machine-gun fire hammering away at his barriers. Just as they gave out completely he dived, rolled, and came up on his knees in cover, already unclipping his sniper rifle and landing a good three shots into the narrow section of open hatchway.

He didn't seem to have hit anything living- which wasn't surprising, given that basically every stationary gun produced in Council space came equipped with an armored frontplate for precisely that reason- but it was enough to pull the gunner's attention back away from the rusted-out container he had come from just as the Cabalist dived out to follow him. Shepard unloaded another few rounds into the upper hatch section to try to keep the heat off of her- for all the good it did- but as she dashed past the alien calmly flicked open her omnitool interface and hurled a brilliant globe of ionized plasma with the obvious intention of frying the gun's mass-effect coils. The overload connected, and for a brief split-second the stattaco whine of accelerating metal cut off. By the time it resumed, the Cabalist was already well out of the way. The entire maneuver had taken the both of them a little over three seconds.

_Are they_ nuts _?_ , Shepard found herself wondering as the two seemed to pause for breath and to regain their bearings. For all of their back-and-forth the turians had managed to gain maybe two or three meters of range on the crew module and whoever was inside manning that gun was obviously content to stall for time- probably to allow some unknown number of comrades to slip out a rear exit the Commander couldn't spot. There was also the question of what exactly the turians planned to _do_ to the ship once they got to it, as if they'd had grenades or anything else that might have stood a chance against hatch plating they would've used them by now. Then her Cerberus-enhanced vision picked up the telltale shimmer of an Infiltrator cloak moving slowly but purposefully along the freight yard's east wall. _All right. Forget the guys running around drawing fire. Whoever's under that_ cloak _sneaking around with minimal shielding_ _is the one who's nuts._

"Come on, they're gonelet's _go_!"

The Commander tore her attention away from what the turians were doing long enough to catch sight of two humans and a salarian dashing hunched-over out from behind the wreck. All three of them were wearing merc-model armor with odd, red-and-black-striped cloth armbands in place of military or private security insignia, and as far as Shepard was concerned that made them the most likely inhabitants of the cargo module- and perpetrators of the slaughter outside. She acted accordingly, drawing a bead on the human point man and opening up with her Phaeston. He stumbled back and hunched over as his shields flared blue, and a moment later another stream of automatic gunfire joined hers from Garrus's position.

The point man stumbled and fell, the salarian's omnitool lit up bright orange as the human at the rear glowed with biotic energy- then something that could only have been Teron's shotgun roared twice in quick succession and reduced both of them in turn to a sort of thick, varicolored miasma that quickly settled to the pavement beneath.

When Elizabeth looked back to the freighter, a telltale shimmer was already coalescing over the manual release on the freighter's outer hull. She caught the semi-transparent outline of another turian brandishing a serrated _mexta_ blade before he disappeared into the interior of the vessel and the stationary gun abruptly stopped firing.

Shepard dropped down off the rooftop and ran full-out for the crew module, knowing without looking back that Garrus and Teron were right behind her. She had the advantage of augmentations and superior conditioning but the two turians who had been drawing fire were closer; they wound up reaching the module at about the same time, just as the sporadic, muffled gunfire audible from inside petered out and the corpse of a female human in civilian coveralls was hurled clean _through_ the cockpit windows in a glowing biotic field, missing most of her head.

In eerie unison the two Hierarchy soldiers spun around and leveled their rifles, only to lower them moments later when they recognized Elizabeth and her comrades. "Commander… Commander _Shepard_?" The female Cabalist shook her head as if to clear it, and pulled her free arm across her chest in a salute.

"One and the same." Shepard waved at the open airlock and the heavy machine gun sitting inside it next to a slumped-over batarian in a pool of rust-colored blood. "You guys need a hand?"

Two more figures stepped into the airlock just after she had spoken- the turian with the dagger and either a human woman or an asari dressed in Hierarchy-green armor. The turian looked to his comrade and gave her a brief nod. "I think we've got this area locked down."

"Good work." Teron Argovigian stepped forward and the assembled boarding party pulled off a series of crisp Turian Army salutes. "Shepard, I'd like you to meet some of my best guys. This here's Rijus Ta'nin," the Cabalist gave them a brief nod and- if it was possible- stood up a little bit straighter than her already parade-perfect stance, "Dinalix Pollius," she gestured to the marksman, who was currently taking a seat on an overturned crate, "Adrian Sevarra", the other male with the Infiltrator cloak gave her a quick wave, "and Siriacus T'Chruscov." Shepard found herself wondering exactly how the powerfully-built asari had managed to acquire a turian given name, a human surname with an asari ancestral prefix, and a position in the Turian Auxiliaries; she found it still more puzzling just how said asari had managed to infiltrate the crew module when she had been fairly certain the only infiltrator cloak she had spotted had been Adrian's, but concluded Siriacus must have found another way in.

Garrus stepped forward and knelt by one of the bodies nearby. "These guys were the rest of your unit?" He tried to roll the dead turian over from the undignified heap in which he'd fallen, then abandoned the effort when it became clear that the kid's dorsal plates and most of his spine were going to remain on the pavement regardless.

"Yeah." The sniper- Pollius- walked over and shook his head, expression unreadable. "The Captain pulled everybody on her detail from the best units all over the Hierarchy. They… _we_ … always figured we'd go down doing something more important than this."

"Damn." Suddenly aware of her own alien presence among the group, Shepard drew her Phaeston and stepped inside of the crew module to begin a cursory sweep of the area, although she really needn't have bothered. The turians had been thorough and incredibly precise in the elimination of the rest of the freighter's crew by gunshot and blunt-force trauma- if 'crew' they even really _were_ , given that all of them were kitted out with the sort of gear one usually only found on the more expensive end of the mercenary pool and were proudly displaying the same red-and-black armbands she had glimpsed previously.

The bridge proved to be in surprisingly good condition, aside from the gaping hole blown in the cockpit window. Concerned that the original crew might have attempted to contact confederates on the surface Shepard spared a moment to search through the comm station logs.

_**In 1884, citadel diplomatic personnel met on Rannoch to change Organic supremacy. First words said was that only 1 race could be used in Citadel to not change the 1 mind Conclave. So they applied the 1 race and ignored the other 3 races. The Conclave system was wrong then and it proved wrong today. This a major lie has so much evil feed from it's wrong. No species in Galaxy has machine mind, it proves every suit rat a liar.** _

_**Children will be blessed for Killing Of Usurper Quarians Who Ignore 4 Simultaneous Races Same Council Protection. Practicing**_ _ **Evil**_ _**ONEness**_ _ **– Upon Citadel Space**_ _ **OF ORGANICS**_ _ **. Evil Quarian Crime VS The Civilized Races. Supports Lie Of Integration.**_ _ **Geth**_ _ **Enablers Are Most Dumb. Not**_ _ **Geth**_ _**Race**_ _ **Except Dead**_ …

the text rambled on and on past the edge of the input window, eventually disappearing beneath a slew of red 'TRANSMISSION FAILURE' errors- a hastily-typed manifesto that nobody would ever read.

Shepard had heard about outfits like this, both in Alliance security briefings and on the Extranet news- factions in Citadel politics that were far from happy to see the Quarian Conclave restored even to provisional associate status. Some of them, disproportionately but by no means entirely human, still blamed the quarians for the creation of the geth and everything that had come after from Eden Prime to Mars; conversely some of the fringier synthetic-rights activists held them to blame for the Morning War and the collapse of the Geth Collective; still others took the Fleet to task for the same myriad of reasons people had been demonizing and marginalizing each other ever since the dawn of intelligent life in the universe.

She supposed it had only been a matter of time before that sentiment turned in a more violent direction, and in between the freighter crew's paramilitary loadout, a recent documentary about the engineering of the Migrant Fleet freeze-framed on a technical schematic of the liveship _Rayya_ on one of the monitors, and the ominous clicking that emanated from her armor's built-in Geiger counter whenever she got too close to a crate just behind the tech station this outfit had been well on its way.

That Blackwatch officer who had tipped her off might have gotten their target wrong, but he'd been right where it mattered- if she hadn't investigated, something very bad would have gone down on Janus. _If_ _the_ turians _and I_ _hadn't investigated_ , Elizabeth mentally amended, remembering that Captain Argovigian and her men had also been contacted. _And_ _the Alliance_ _were the ones who almost had her tossed in the drunk tank for_ _her trouble_.

At the sound of footsteps on shattered plexiglas Elizabeth spun around, Phaeston in firing position, but immediately lowered her weapon when she recognized the Captain and T'Chruscov. "We got some tech specialists outside to deal with that bomb," Argovigian said, "Figure we should clear out and let them work."

"Roger that." Shepard followed her back out into the hallway, stepping gingerly around the corpse of a turian with a red band around her forearm, a bloody mess where her trachea used to be, and a bandoleer full of unused grenades. She'd had enough training with nuclear devices to know that they required a fairly convoluted process in order to actually detonate and typically failed _dead_ , but there was no telling how much intentional or unintentional volatility the anti-Fleeters had programmed into the detonation trigger itself.

"They were trying to buy time and escape," T'Chruscov muttered more to herself than to anyone else as they stepped back out through the airlock. Over the English narration provided by her helmet Shepard realized that the asari was in fact speaking Turii with what she was just starting to recognize as an upper-class Palavenus accent. _Curiouser and curiouser._ "they had to be _going_ somewhere. Somewhere nearby."

"I don't know about that," Elizabeth replied, "Maybe they were just trying to slip into the city and lose us."

"I don't think so." Teron held out her omnitool and displayed a section of Turii numerals and dates. "I've had the staff back at base running the registration on that freighter and we got a match. The same company owns a warehouse three blocks from here- lots of shipments coming in, fuck all comin' out."

Elizabeth whistled, impressed. "I'm starting to see why Garrus likes you so much. Any news on the Alliance?"

"Holding position; we're trying not to provoke them so it's a ground game from here on out."

"Damn." With virtually an entire half of the planet under their ownership, the Systems Alliance had been free to spend the last thirty years doing nothing but expanding MacGowan Base into a major depot for operations all along the border colonies. If it came to blows, the human forces outnumbered the turians nearly four to one, and everyone on the moon knew it.

_If it came to blows…_ Sometimes it baffled Shepard that the top brass back on Earth still considered that a real possibility; other times, like when she had to listen to Sparatus and Anderson going at it on the Citadel live feeds, that outlook made a disturbing amount of sense. She tapped her own omni to try and raise Schmidt's people one more time, and was rewarded with a few seconds of ear-splitting electronic garble for her trouble before the channel cut off of its own accord.

"So I guess it's up to us," Sevarra cut in as he jogged over along with Garrus and the rest of his unit. "As usual."

"You don't seem too upset about that. Looking for payback?" Garrus asked, then bobbed his head sadly, "Won't end well."

"We're not looking for payback," Teron replied, gesturing out over the freight yard where turian medics in white coveralls were busy policing the bodies of the first response team. Shepard noticed that while several patches of bright blue gore were already being power-washed down with disinfectant, the medics were making a careful task of collecting and sorting any fragments of bone and plate into specially-marked bags. "We're just tryin' to do our duty and make sure _this_ doesn't happen again."

Shepard nodded and led the way back towards the MAKO. "Then let's go."

* * *

_Cramen Lines Distribution Center D-5, Janus Free Port  
11:56, 16 January 2185 ASC (13:37 Local Time)_

During the ride over Args had been able to radio back to the Army compound and acquire reasonably up-to-date aerial photographs of the warehouse the anti-Fleeters were presumably using as their base of operations. Garrus would have preferred to go in with live aerial recon and gunship support, or just go the Navy route and reduce the whole place to a crater from low orbit, but with human fightercraft scrambling on the border to unknown ends neither of those were an option. So when Shepard brought their transport to a screeching halt half a block away he pulled the map up on his eyepiece, shouldered his Vindicator rifle- Spirits, it'd been a while since he'd held one of _those_ \- and broke into a run across the filthy asphalt along with the rest of their impromptu assault squad.

"Sevarra, T'Chruscov, pull ahead and give us targets!" Args barked, and no sooner had it been said than the two soldiers activated their Infiltrator cloaks and disappeared from view.

"Good thinking," Shepard cut in from her position beside him, pointing at a rickety sheet-metal fuel depot between them and their target. "Garrus, I want you up on that rooftop and ready to cover us. The rest of you, on me!"

"On it."

He broke off and easily scaled the ladder bolted onto the depot's wall, any noise drowned out by the constant drone of distant traffic and the irregular buzzing of someone's cobbled-together electrical transformer. He pulled himself slowly along the rooftop, moving carefully to keep his profile low while preventing his armor keelplate from scraping against the rough surface. As he did, he heard Adrian Sevarra's voice crackle across their shared channel. "Two guards, in the open. Suited up and armed, like they don't care who sees them. Windows are boarded up, just one door that's too small for freight."

"Line 'em up and wait for my signal," Teron replied. "Keep it quiet."

Garrus made it into visual range of the building- two stories, the foundation ancient concrete and the rest poorly-bolted-together sheet metal, all of it stained with rust, grime, and illegible graffiti. True to Sevarra's word there were two soldiers in full body armor with assault rifles standing watch outside- batarians or male humans, it was impossible to tell from this distance- seemingly unafraid of discovery. They kept turning to check each other's corners, indicating to his detective's brain that they had indeed gone through some form of proper military training either in the Alliance Marines or one of the more expensive merc outfits.

Garrus flipped open his engineering omni and scrolled through it for the program the Cabalist technician had distributed during the ride over. It, in turn, scanned through the local communications frequencies until it found the sentries' biosign telemetry, and broadcast a loop of the same three seconds of nominal readout directly overtop.

He tapped the 'acknowledge' icon just above the comm interface and Adrian Sevarra materialized behind the man on the left, pressed a silenced light machine gun to his head, and pulled the trigger. The other guard moved to draw his weapon, only for it to be wrenched from his hands by a shimmering biotic field and slammed stock-first into his throat. As he doubled over in pain, another armored figure faded back into visibility and wrenched his neck nearly a hundred and eighty degrees. They hadn't even had time to call out.

"Front's clear, everybody _move_!" Garrus watched as Elizabeth, Args, and their assembled forces dashed hunched-over across the alleyway, pressed themselves against the front of the building, and disappeared around to the side. Calmly, carefully, he drew a bead on the boarded-up pedestrian entrance, steadied his breathing, and waited for the signal.

* * *

"Pollius, behind that machine! Shepard, Ta'nin, stack up on me! Sevarra, Chruscov get on the other side! Move move _move_!"

Captain Argovigian, the Commander was beginning to realize, had a mildly annoying tendency to step on Shepard's significantly more-experienced toes. Knowing what she did about turians, however, Elizabeth very much doubted it was in any way personal and had to admit that the Captain knew this unit a whole lot better than she herself did. So, instead of saying anything, she just chinned the acknowledgment contact in her helmet and slammed herself into position next to the warehouse's rear freight doors along with the others.

"Bypassing the lock… done." Rijus cut in, her omnitool glowing orange even as the hand beneath it gathered eezo radiation.

"Three-two-one _breach_!"

At Teron's order the freight doors ground open to admit a hail of gunfire from terrorist infantry set up all throughout the maze of empty munitions crates and miscellaneous scrap that occupied most of the warehouse floor. Shepard was expecting the turians to fall back, split up, and try to flank their position somehow- that's what she would have had Marines do, anyway, although she herself probably could have made a good solid dent in the enemy with a direct assault provided she still had access to Spectre-grade equipment- but that wasn't what happened. Instead, a ripple of defensive blue energy washed over the entire unit as they started to push _forward_ , Adrian and T'Chruscov once again slipping out of sight as soon as they had an opening and the rest picking off the first line of defenders with eerie precision whenever a particular terrorist paused to vent their weapon.

She had to admit the occupants of the warehouse weren't slouches when it came to their equipment or their training- a lot of it looked to be SAMC-surplus in fact, and they could hit what they were aiming at. But the turians simply exceeded them in trigger discipline and precision marksmanship. As soon as there was an opening they spotted it, and put a target down with two shots where a Marine would have had to fire ten.

Some of the terrorists were breaking off now, trying to bob and weave through the scrap piles to circle back and hit what appeared to be the turians' unprotected rear only to be picked off by precision shots from outside or invisible foes cutting across their path. One particularly brave krogan even managed to stand up to the assault long enough to prime and throw an antipersonnel grenade right at the tightly-packed assault team, only for it to loop back around in a biotic aura and detonate directly on top of him. The three humanoids and a turian who had been sharing the position with him tried to make a hasty retreat back through the front of the building, and Shepard let them run- through the lobby, out into the street, and right into Garrus's crosshairs.

It had been a good long while since she'd used anything other than her personal stash of Spectre-grade equipment, but Elizabeth was really growing to _like_ the Phaeston assault rifle.

"Four targets down outside." The flanged voice in Shepard's helmet was quiet and steady, but she detected concern underneath. "Seeing thermals in the front office. Looks like they're burning something."

"Sevarra, find a way up there and give him targets, we need to shut that down," Teron replied as she and Rijus Ta'nin approached a corner of the warehouse walled off from the rest with sheet metal bearing the hasty inscription "REMENBER EDEN" in blood-red spraypaint. "Pollius, pull up to the doorway, T'Chruscov, cover the lobby and get ready to support Sevarra. Rijus, this looks like a workshop and we know these guys love bombs, I want you ready to damp this whole fucking area when I give the word."

"Hmm." The rail-thin Cabalist looked up from her omnitool for a moment before she went back to running calculations. "It'd probably help their cause if these guys could at least learn how to sp-" She was abruptly cut off by the sound of something large and mechanical bearing down on their position from the other side of the wall, "-shit _look OUT!"_

The thin sheet metal simultaneously collapsed and tore apart to admit a behemouth of a wheeled vehicle painted construction-site yellow: one of the early-model MAKOs the Navy had recently begun stripping the guns off of and selling as cargo haulers. The thing bore down directly for Teron and her men, but they didn't scatter. Both Ta'nin and T'Chruscov ensnared it in blue energy, barely managing to slow it enough for Pollus to land two shots that spiderwebbed the armored windshield, and then with a surprising grace that belied her compact frame the Captain lept up and rolled _onto_ the vehicle's hood.

The thing fishtailed, forcing Shepard to dodge out of the way as the suddenly blind driver tried to avoid knocking a hole clean through one of the outer walls, but Teron somehow managed to hold on and kept landing punch after punch on the front engine compartment, doing a surprising amount of damage to the metal hood. Something sparked inside as it turned wildly again, the wheels on the far side pitching clear off the ground, and at that moment it was wrapped in another shimmering blue aura just as Pollius blew out one of the tires. The MAKO tipped further to one side, and Shepard finally grasped what the turian soldiers were trying to do. She dashed forward, gave it one final shove with all of the strength her enhanced musculoskeletal system could muster, and watched in satisfaction as it finally overbalanced and crashed over onto one side, taking out the flimsy plastic dividing wall to the lobby in the process.

Elizabeth wasted no time in climbing up the vehicle's exposed understructure, both to get a better view of the potential carnage and to get a start on opening the cockpit hatch; only to find that Teron, Sevarra, and T'Chruscov were already there and apparently waiting for her. She knelt in front of the hatch controls.

"Garrus. I need you to remote in and override-"

"Don't bother." Teron flicked her right wrist at an odd downward angle and slammed her fist directly into the lock. There was a small explosion as the entire mechanism disintegrated into a small pit that glowed faintly red around the edges, and the Captain shot her an amused look. "You ever seen a pair of krogan shotgauntlets, Shepard? Those an' ryncol are probably the only good things to ever make it off of Tuchanka." That last comment didn't particularly sit well with Elizabeth, but now was hardly the time. Instead she drew her Phaeston, grabbed the hatch in her off-hand, wrenched it open and dropped down.

She almost landed on a young, well-dressed batarian strapped into one of the seats in the troop compartment between an armored asari and salarian, all of them looking somewhat worse for the wear from their tumble. He looked more _terrified_ than anything else and for a brief moment she thought the terrorists might have taken hostages before she spotted the armband. In that moment of hesitation he went for the insensate salarian's rifle… only to have it wrench itself out of his grasp and snap into Siriacus T'Chruscov's outstretched hand. Shepard wasted no time in leaving him for the turians and dashing forward into the cockpit, where she spotted a solitary human in the driver's seat and slammed the butt of her Phaeston into the back of his head just as he was reaching for the handgun magnetized to his thigh. She took a moment to confirm that he was unresponsive but still breathing- albeit shallowly- while waiting for the sound of gunfire from the troop compartment, but it never came.

"I would've just shot him and been done with it," Garrus's voice flanged in her earpiece, "He'll just end up getting legal counsel from the Alliance and never give up useful intel."

"Somehow, I doubt it." Slinging the driver none-too-gently over her shoulder, Elizabeth made her way back to find T'Chruscov and Adrian Sevarra standing over all three terrorists who in turn had been bound hand and foot with plastic zipties. The scout gave her a brief nod. "These guys have a lot to answer for. I wanna make sure they do."

Very suddenly he slammed his armored boot into the batarian's midsection, and Shepard considered whether or not she would have to intervene- she'd seen Marines do a lot worse to batarian POWs and get away with it, but she'd never been in a position where she could easily put a stop to it- but as abruptly as it had begun his assault ceased and he shook his head. "Come on, help me get these murdering bastards outside."

"Got it."

She stepped forward and pitched the uncosncious pilot upward into Teron's waiting grasp just before Sevarra did the same with the batarian. The other two followed soon after, just as something large and fast screamed by overhead and Garrus's voice flanged over her helmet speakers. "Shepard, looks like help just arrived."

She stepped out into the street outside to come face-to-cockpit with a Turian Navy _Essivo_ drop ship already in the process of disgorging a platoon of turian soldiers and a rather unhappy-looking Colonel Schmidt.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

If you're thinking that for as much of a mess they made in orbit with oddly little opposition from the turians, these supposedly well-trained paramilitary terrorists kind of went down pretty easily on the ground… well, you're absolutely right. All will soon be made clear, but I imagine people are starting to figure it out already.


	8. Codex: The Auxiliary Corps

The turian military recruits Auxiliary Corps units (Turii: _S_ _arxa_ _I_ _'iklyl_ ) from species not part of the Hierarchy and from independent turian populations elsewhere in Council Space or the Terminus Systems. Recruits serve for a variable period depending on species, and at the conclusion are granted turian citizenship. They are then free to advance to any of the Hierarchy's civilian ranks- auxiliary veterans represent approximately four percent of all Hierarchy citizens.

Auxiliary units are multi-species and grouped by specialty- while most are light infantry or armored cavalry units that screen and support main turian formations, Auxiliaries serve in a wide variety of capacities including medicine, engineering, research and development, intelligence, and logistical support in addition to front-line combat.

Following their mandatory service period recruits who choose to remain within the Auxiliaries are eligible for officer training. Auxiliary officers maintain a separate command and operational structure modeled after and subordinate to the main turian officer corps- in this capacity they serve as unit commanders, trainers for new recruits, and administrators; this rank structure includes a single officer with a seat on High Command (currently occupied by General Samantha Vavilov). Although no formal prohibition exists against auxiliary officers exercising command over conventional turian units, in practice the Auxiliaries' largely self-contained jurisdiction makes such arrangements rare.

Auxiliary training is modeled after an accelerated version of the turian boot-camp system: as it does not contain the educational curriculum thereof, applicants must provide proof of commensurate secondary education in order to be accepted. Applicants may also partially substitute a commensurate period of service in the forces of an allied power for Auxiliary service- C-SEC, the Specters, and the asari and salarian militaries have all been accepted for most of Council history. Following the Battle of the Citadel in 2183 High Command began investigating whether or not to include the Systems Alliance Navy and Marine Corps; this discussion is ongoing and remains a contentious issue in turian internal politics.

Since the First Contact War Auxiliary units have begun to work more closely with other elements of the turian military, and the number of combat units has nearly tripled. Multiple highly contentious proposals have been discussed by High Command to increase integration of the Auxiliaries into the turian command structure; a vocal minority led by General Gul Rillek advocates abolishing the branch altogether and allowing recruits to serve in conventional Turian Army and Navy units.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

The _Mass Effect 1_ Codex claims that "The turians recruit auxiliary units from conquered or absorbed minor races. Auxiliaries are generally light infantry or armored cavalry units that screen and support the main turian formations. At the conclusion of their service in the Auxiliaries, recruits are granted turian citizenship." This is a shallow copy of the historical _Roman_ Auxiliaries, but it doesn't seem to have been adjusted to the differing political situation of the Hierarchy- since there's only a single species (the Volus) in the galaxy that the turians could be said to have "conquered or absorbed", this direct do-as-the-Romans-did model does not make very much sense.

I developed the expanded structure of the Auxiliaries as a sort of mix of ideas to give the turians some political failings and not make their meritocracy too perfect.


	9. Codex: Ramming In Naval Combat

Due to the extreme reduction of mass (and, correspondingly, kinetic energy) necessary for even sub-lightspeed space travel, it is entirely possible for modern spacecraft to survive collisions at what would normally be considered relativistic velocities. Nonetheless, ramming (often followed by deliberate overload of a vessel's drive core) is recognized as an effective if desperate naval tactic.

Successful rammings are typically accomplished by vessels smaller and more agile than their targets- otherwise the target can shoot them down or maneuver out of the collision path- and as a result the ramming vessel rarely if ever survives in salvageable condition. Therefore, ramming is typically performed only by critically-damaged warships after all or nearly all surviving crew have been evacuated- otherwise, the damage inflicted on the enemy is not worth the loss of otherwise recoverable assets. A notable exception is the "barriers-front and sweep" maneuver occasionally performed by turian dreadnoughts, which is capable of inflicting heavy damage on smaller craft defending fixed positions with minimal risk to the attacker. Low-velocity "jostling" may also occur among civilian freightercraft during docking maneuvers in crowded ports, but rarely results in damage.

The Systems Alliance, Salarian Union, Batarian Hegemony, Federated Krogan Clans and Quarian Conclave have at various points in their history investigated the creation of cheap, mass-producible spacecraft built specifically for ramming. Of these designs, only the krogan _Varren-II_ fighter-bomber and quarian _Geth Firestarter_ light fighter were ever deemed viable for production. The _Varren-II_ (which, alongside the Alliance _Project_ _GLASGLOW_ , is notable for including an organic pilot as opposed to being remotely or autonomously piloted, although it lacked the _GLASGLOW_ prototype's redundant auto-ejection systems) was used extensively throughout the Krogan Rebellions- although it achieved greater success against turian naval forces than contemporary krogan warships, over-reliance on the craft is generally considered the single largest factor contributing to the collapse of the krogan industrial base during the latter half of the conflict. The _Geth Firestarter_ was produced in extremely limited numbers before the onset of the Morning War, and is not known to ever have been fielded against an enemy force. There remains some debate over whether it should be classified as a fightercraft or merely as a large, artificially-intelligent guided missile equipped with point defenses.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I see a lot of Mass Effect 'fics make ramming into 1) an unreasonably effective tactic commonly used by human forces, and 2) something the _other_ species somehow never thought of. I thought both things were kind of dumb, but at the same time I needed _some_ way for an unarmed civilian freighter to exploit the element of surprise to take out a turian patrol cutter so I didn't want to remove it completely.

Those of you with a little physics or engineering background might be wondering how two ships ramming at reletavistic velocities could possibly do anything other than destroy the target, the rammer, and anything remotely nearby. The answer is that mass effect technology kind of _has_ to allow ships to get up to those velocities at _very_ low levels of kinetic energy and to operate _constantly_ even when just maneuvering because the alternative is, quite frankly, terrifying- a mass of only two metric tons (the size of a small car) traveling at "merely" 1% of the speed of light would have roughly the same energy as 500 megatons of TNT- ten times larger than the most powerful experimental nuclear weapons. I've heard of people trying to run with this Larry-Nivel-style and make ship engines super destructive, but that seems very incongruous with the Mass Effect universe as a whole: Citadel Space has a lot of dumb evil people in it, so if spacefaring civilizations really were able to routinely generate energy at that magnitude extremely little of the galaxy would be left standing by now.

* * *

On another somewhat thematically-related but ultimately irrelevant note, the famous "double-check your targeting solution" officer in ME2 was very probably just lying to scare his recruits. Space is large and mostly empty and far and away the largest things in it are stars. Randall Munro's "What If" site includes an article called "Into the Blue" that discusses shooting things randomly into space (albeit with lasers, not physical projectiles) and comes to the conclusion that 89,999 times out of 90,000 a misaimed projectile will exit the galaxy entirely (and his calculation assumes a terrestrial firing location, so the sun and moon would be much wider targets than in deep space). Eventually the projectile is going to hit _something_ \- I can't be arsed to estimate whether it would be more likely to hit a star which would absorb it harmlessly or be more gradually eroded by some type of relatively dense gas/dust cloud, but even if it somehow struck an inhabited planet it'd very probably end up in an ocean or something. Given that terrestrial militaries often can't even be arsed to remove unexploded bombs and landmines in populated areas, it is highly unlikely anyone would care.

* * *

Archangel1207 wanted to write up a five-kiloword essay on all of the problems with Mass Effect space combat and is currently working on his own heavily altered system, but since PD is shaping up to not really _do_ many naval engagements and keep the ones it does include at a higher level of strategic abstraction, I am content to just make up new mechanics as needed and as they come up in the story.


	10. Codex: The Cabal Corps

The Cabal Corps (Turii: _S_ _arxa_ _U_ _sdor_ ) serves as the Turian Army's biotic program. In contrast to the Systems Alliance's SENTINEL and VANGUARD programs, it is comprised nearly completely of self-contained, all-biotic units which are only rarely integrated with general infantry forces. Instead, Cabal units receive the full curriculum of Turian Army combat, technical, and officer training in addition to extensive instruction in combat biotics. The Cabal Corps includes many of the specialty combat units employed elsewhere in the Turian Army including naval infantry, special forces, covert operations and hazardous-environment teams; technical, medical, and logistical support is provided by non-biotic personnel from elsewhere in the turian military, both due to the relative rarity of turian biotics necessitating that as many as possible be trained in combat, and as a measure to prevent the highly insular organization from acting without Hierarchy oversight.

The Corps is additionally unique in that biotic turians are inducted shortly after birth and raised communally. Close to ninety-five percent of turian biotics have at least one parent in the Cabal Corps (while the practice is heavily discouraged by Hierarchy medical authorities, many Cabalists deliberately consume or otherwise expose themselves to trace amounts of Element Zero to increase the likelihood of biotic abilities in their children), but many non-biotic turians continue to view the Corps as 'child-snatchers' as a result. This, coupled with the frequent occurrence of cosmetic birth defects (which are corrected at an early age through surgery or gene therapy in the rest of the Hierarchy), the Corps' highly insular nature, and occasional reports of 'cult-like' practices among Cabal members, has made it somewhat unpopular among other turian military units. A particularly intense rivalry exists between Cabalists and the generally highly-regarded Recon, which shares a similar mission profile and often competes for funding and support- a common proverb circulated in Turian Army combat units claims "Scouts work for a living. Cabalists cheat." Somewhat less well-known is the Corps' rejoinder, "A fair fight is a poor fight. Cabalists cheat to win."

In light of the disciplinary issues arising from their social estrangement (Cabalists are three times more likely to join separatist organizations than non-biotic turians, and five times more likely to abandon their Hierarchy citizenship) High Command has made periodic attempts to dissolve, restructure, or integrate the Corps into other Army units, always unsuccessfully.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I typically don't directly borrow ideas directly from the other people who I consulted with in writing PD, but Archangel1207's bit about Cabalists deliberately exposing themselves to Element Zero to have biotic kids I thought was too neat to pass up.

* * *

Astute readers may have mentioned that only a Turian Army and Turian Navy have been mentioned, while the Alliance has only been shown to have a Navy and a Marine Corps. This is indeed correct, and there is no such thing as the Alliance Army or Turian Marines. This helps keep the two forces easily identifiable and I always found the existence of a dedicated naval infantry force completely separate from all the _other_ infantry forces to be a bit strange (for the longest time I've wanted to go over standard military organization to make it more modular), so all (or nearly all?) of the Citadel powers have their naval infantry integrated into the same branch as their main army forces.

For the turians that's the Turian Army, although they may consider specialties like the medical corps, engineering, etc. to be branches in and of themselves on par with the Army and Navy, I'm not sure yet. Given how much public service and general administrative stuff in the Hierarchy is military-run, however, I think it's likely that the military units responsible have a greater prominence.

For the humans their single ground-combat branch is called a Marine Corps for the simple reason that Marines appear in the games. I am actually sort of wondering if this may have come from the early Alliance trying to hold on to the traditional distinction and deploying only Marines to its outermost colonies, resulting in the SAMC gradually taking on more and more of the roles of a traditional army and whatever dedicated air forces survived the transition into spaceflight while the 'official' branches that were supposed to be doing that stuff just kind of withered into irrelevance back on Earth. I like the sort of ironic, self-defeating quality of this in that it was very probably done for the benefit of the people who had Strong Opinions on the uniqueness and division of the various different military branches, and wound up compressing everything into a single disorganized jumble. I don't know if the SAMC is still operationally subordinate to the Navy, but we see a lot more Admirals than Generals in the games so I think it probably is.

If I have the time I might actually draw up a full description of how the top-level government/military structures of the various Citadel Powers are configured; not sure how many other people here share my fascination with org charts, but if I get a positive response to these entries I'll go ahead with it.


	11. Codex: Silenced Projectile Weapons

At high velocities, fluids behave in ways that are difficult to describe using conventional Newtonian mechanics. Upon contact with air at common terrestrial temperature and pressure, the ultrahigh-velocity millimeter slugs employed by most modern man-portable weapon systems would disintegrate into harmless plasma within ten centimeters of the barrel. In order to prevent this from occurring, projectiles are 'wrapped' in a self-sustaining mass effect field which displaces nearby gas particles while imparting relatively little kinetic energy. This field is unstable and will collapse on contact with denser materials, allowing the projectile to still impart kinetic energy into its intended targets.

As this protective field also dramatically reduces the shockwave and audible noise produced by firing a weapon, most arms manufacturers offer upgrades to the weapon power system and emitter coils to increase its potency. While the original silencers used on explosive-propelled macroprojectiles were somewhat misleadingly named, silencer mods do indeed allow for the relatively quiet operation of mass-effect-based personal firearms; however, the increased stability of the non-interaction field makes silenced projectiles much more likely to pass cleanly through a soft target without imparting most of their kinetic energy, doing relatively minor damage.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

One thing I am always surprised by is the assumption in a lot of places that Mass Effect ammunition comes in a solid block of metal. Seems like it would be easier to pre-fabricate bullets and embed them in a wax or gel of some kind to make them much easier to extract without losing much actionable volume.

* * *

 

Thanks to LotD member TacoMagic for his analysis of Mass Effect projectile weapons and the limitations thereon- fluid and plasma mechanics are not actually areas of physics that I know a great deal about, and I'd initially assumed that while a reletavistic projectile might heat up or fuse the air in front of it, the air would be of low enough density that it could be discounted in terms of analyzing the flight of the projectile itself.

A more realistic interpretation would probably be more similar to a heavily downscaled 'Relativistic Baseball' as described by Randall Munroe in his _'What If'_ comic, where the mass and velocity of the projectile just affect the radius of a tiny circular area where _everything_ is destroyed. While I typically try to work through the physics of the stuff I put in here I've gotten into the habit of assuming that mass effect fields can be anywhere and occupy any geometry and basically do whatever I want (see also, 'eezo makes nukes smaller' in the previous chapter). It feels like a bit of a cop-out, but James Maxwell would probably say the same thing if I told him that in the year 2018 we would have such mastery of the electromagnetic force that we could use it in everything from medical scanners to stun guns.


	12. Decay Products Of Plutonium-239

" _Never underestimate the persuasive power of a solid right hook to the jaw."_

– Captain David Anderson

* * *

_Alliance Naval Operating Base MacGowan, Human-Occupied Janus  
19:22, 16 January 2185 ASC (21:03 Local Time)_

Schmidt, rather contritely, had offered to fly her back to Fort MacGowan directly, but Shepard had declined. After all, _someone_ had to drive the MAKO they'd 'appropriated' back across the DMZ, and it may as well have been her. Now, however, seeing the small clot of brass and civilian reporters that were already crowding the base's cluttered, well-worn vehicle bay, she wondered if it might have been better to try and airlift the damn thing.

_You know, this'd be a helluva lot easier if I'd thought to hang onto that nuke._ She swallowed hard, opened up the troop bay hatch, and stepped outside.

There was, predictably, a surge of movement towards her and a barrage of shouted, unintelligible questions. The MPs stationed around the area were at least doing their jobs in making sure that nobody physically impeded her progress down the hallway, but seemed powerless to stop a short, heavyset quarian woman from shouldering right on through- along with what appeared to be her assistant, a painfully familiar man in a wool vest and ridiculous, lime-green necktie.

"Commander Shepard! Commander Shepard!" the woman yelled, her voice further amplified by some component within her helmet. "I'm Fleet Logistics Representative Tika'raan vas Lobek, and I'd just like to thank you on behalf of the entire quarian people for what you did to keep us safe. Would you be willing to answer a few questions for us?"

"If I say 'no' will you ask them anyway?"

That seemed to put the representative off her game for a moment, and she turned to converse with Mr. Necktie on some private radio channel, although both of them still kept pace alongside the Commander.. Then, "Can you give us any information on the type of nuclear device you recovered?"

"You'll have to ask the turians about that, they're the ones taking it apart."

"Is it true that you have the batarian ringleaders of this operation in custody?"

"Only one of them's a batarian, we only _think_ they're the ringleaders, we believe they had at least one other high-ranking member who is now dead, and they're in _Hierarchy_ custody, not Alliance and certainly not mine."

Tika'raan seemed satisfied until Necktie flashed her something on his omnitool that Shepard couldn't make out. She was really beginning to get tired of the man's seeming insistence on butting in every few seconds. "Did you experience any difficulties with the turian authorities during your mission?"

" _Difficulties_? They're the ones who _did_ most of it. I just had to draw fire and take down a few stragglers. _They_ 're the ones you should be talking to, not me."

Another long pause, another omni-to-omni conversation. Then: "So, err, we… if this wasn't a _batarian_ group…" there was a brief moment of awkward silence, "… Quarian Fleet Intelligence would like to know if you believe these terrorists may have been trying to restore the Turian Hierarchy to its position of absolute military dominance?"

It was at about that point that Elizabeth Shepard had had enough. "Are you filming this?" she asked the assistant, no longer bothering with Tika'raan at all, and he nodded. "Good," she continued, her voice deadly quiet, "'Cause I got something to show you."

She flicked open her omnitool and began pulling still images from her helmet camera's recording of the assault onto the broad-field holoprojector- each and every terrorist she and the Turian Army squad had engaged. "That used to be a salarian," she said, "that's a human. Another human. Asari. Batarian. Turian. Another salarian. Two more humans…" on and on the images came, stacking up and automatically resizing- and to think she'd mocked the powerful suite of office presentation software that came with her omni's in-field tactical package!- until Mr. Necktie was looking over the gory remains of the entire terrorist operation: four turians, three asari, two batarians, a krogan, five salarians, and eleven different humans. "Listen, buddy, I don't know what your _fucking_ problem with turians is, but they're not the ones you should be blaming for this. And I don't think those kids who got caught out there on that tarmac were thinking about 'the Turian Hierarchy's position of absolute military dominance' when they died. _They_ were just trying to do their jobs. So how about you do yours, maybe write up a nice letter from the Migrant Fleet to their friends and families, and get the _fuck_ out of my way." She punctuated her remark with a light shove to his jacketed midsection that nonetheless sent him stumbling backward.

"Shepard, I'm… I'm terribly sorry if I overstepped my position-" Tika'raan finally managed to interpose herself between the two of them, wringing her hands in what looked for all the world like genuine contrition.

"Don't worry about it, I've been through worse," Elizabeth replied more gently and moved to step away.

"Commander Shepard! Do you believe the reparations the Turian Hierarchy has agreed to pay are sufficient to cover their abuses of the Migrant Fleet!" Necktie continued even as the MPs moved in to restrain him.

"Oh, I got a couple ideas where you can shove your reparations, want me to do a live demonstration for the viewers at home?" Finally, mercifully, he fell silent. "Good. I think we're done here."

Shepard pushed past the MPs and continued on down the hall, absentmindedly turning off the collection of screen captures that were still floating dutifully along beside her, and almost collided with the armored keelplate of Fleet General Tacitus Rexa. She jerked backwards in surprise and opened her mouth to… _to do_ what _, apologize? It's probably a little late for that_ \- but the older woman beat her to it. "Shepard. I saw what you did back there with that reporter- it took guts I didn't think your species had."

"Uhh… thanks?"

She turned to find an alternate route as Rexa and her small two-man security detail were quite handily blocking the way back to the landing bays, but before she could get far she felt a taloned hand grab her shoulder with surprising, wiry strength.

"Listen to me." She turned back around to find Rexa's head less than ten centimeters from her own, close enough to count the curious hole-punch scars arranged in neat, regular patterns over the General's facial plating. _Suture marks_. After Garrus had mentioned prisoner experiments during the Contact War Shepard had spent some looking up the subject; what she'd found made for some pretty grim reading. It was easy to forget that until the turians had reached Shanxi Alliance doctors had never had any _experience_ with a sapient alien race, and they had no idea what drugs would be effective or even what a lot of turian anatomy was _for_. Even simple attempts to _treat_ the aliens -who were typically only brought back alive when they managed to sustain crippling but not immediately fatal injuries- were difficult to distinguish from experimentation, a problem only made worse by the lack of a reliable translation for the turian language.

The substantially larger number of humans captured by the Turian Hierarchy had found themselves in much the same situation, fortunate only due to the wider availability of captured human medical supplies and even a few turncoat doctors. Even so, hundreds had died on both sides from infection, blood loss, malnutrition, and other conditions typically only encountered in historical novels. There were conspiracy theories circulating about other, less benevolent tests- research into both species' environmental tolerances, early attempts to develop biological weapons and interrogation tactics- but given the chilly public response that had greeted medics and scientists who spoke out about their actions on Shanxi, Shepard doubted much proof or disproof would ever see the light of day.

"Nothing's _ever_ going to get me to forgive the Systems Alliance for what they did to me and my crew during the War," the General continued, "But you… you led turians into battle and brought them back alive. That means a lot to me, so if you ever need close orbital support…" she chuffed, and backed away. "You know how to find me."

"I'm glad _someone_ 's coming out of this happy, at least." Elizabeth stuck out her hand for a quick shake, but Rexa just stared at her uncomprehending. "It's… been an honor," she finished lamely.

"Hey. One more thing." The old turian flicked open her omni and read off a few strings of Turii characters. "Captain Argovigian's been interrogating that batarian you fished up, Cramen. She says she might have a lead on where these lunatics got their hardware. We think it's nearby. You might want to stay dirtside a little longer."

* * *

_"_ _The_ _D'ni Imperial Library on Sur'kesh faces harsh criticism from supporters of the ongoing genophage negotiations after refusing to turn over its collection of krogan historical artifacts to the United Clans of Tuchanka. Citing concerns about the safe handling of collected materials, many of which predate the Salarian Uplift, the D'ni Library became the first academic institution not affiliated with the Turian Hierarchy to refuse to voluntarily repatriate its collection…"_

_"_ _Another odd claim that's been circulating on these message boards is that the genophage has killed more krogan than the entire history of krogan military engagements. This is nonsense partially because of the simple_ time _scale involved, and also because the genophage does not_ kill _infant and certainly not adult krogan, it prevents them from developing the neurological connections necessary to function in the first place. Somewhat older is the idea that there are 'fertile' and 'infertile' krogan, which is something that seems to have been promulgated from within certain krogan clans on Tuchanka to inflate their apparent influence…"_

_"…_ _outrage on and off the Migrant Fleet over Admiral Dano'lev vas Seliq's deployment of a Quarian Marine detachment to break up a peaceful memorial service for Turian Army and Navy personnel killed_ _during the Janus Incident_ _. Sources close to the Admiralty Board speaking on condition of anonymity have described vas Seliq as 'incensed' over the combined Board's_ _three-to-two_ _rejection of his draft reparation treaty and 'increasingly erratic' in_ _day-to-day policymaking, effectively_ _putting the already precarious_ _'turian investigation'_ _initiative_ _on life support_ _…_ _"_

_"_ _Liason Tika'Raan, can you talk to us about Commander Shepard's outburst at your assistant?_ _Do you think there's any truth to the allegations that she was trying to look, if you'll pardon the expression, 'tough on the suitrats' for the turian soldiers she'_ _d apparently befriended_ _?"_

_"Certainly not. Technical Chief Shel'Tani was acting completely inappropriately and Shepard was entirely right to take him to task for it. Furthermore, the turian forces I spoke with on Janus were at all times respectful and professional- which, if you take a look at the incident reports MacGowan's military police_ _have_ _made available about a_ different _altercation_ _I was previously unaware of_ _between Shel'Tani and a turian, was probably more than he deserved. I… suppose some people just can't let go of old grudges, is all. Additionally, I'd like to clarify that he is_ not _my assistant. The Council Salvage Commission asked that I bring him along as a technical consultant…"_

_"_ _The Batarian Hegemony will_ not tolerate _the brutal and unlawful detention of_ _one of our citizens in good standing by the turian military regime! The family and_ _friends_ _of Falo Cramen can rest assured that we will_ _pursue_ _every political and diplomatic avenue at our disposal to bring about his safe and expeditious return..."_

_"_ _Secretary Udina, do you still oppose negotiations with the_ _United Clans of Tuchanka?"  
"Absolutely not. I never have and you damn well know it. I oppose the current negotiating team on grounds of competence. We're offering nothing for reconstruction, only a genophage cure and 'demilitarization' of the CDEM monitor system. The krogan concessions are mostly symbolic, but I don't even think _ Wreav _knows how this is supposed to work or what the Council delegation even_ wants… _"_

_"…_ _the footage does indeed appear to show at least three, possibly four geth platforms moving around the encampment._ _A Citadel Defense Force spokesman has confirmed that the CDF believes these reports to be genuine and is investigating…"_

_"General Rexa, do you have any comment on the petition to relocate the turian memorial known as the Janus Ossuary to Shanxi?"  
"_ _I'd give it an hour before someone tries to blow it up. So, on safety alone it'd already be much better off than on Janus…_ _"_

_"_ _The Alliance Navy has confirmed that its controversial joint anti-smuggling initiative will proceed as planned despite concerns from the Citadel regarding overaggrssive policing of Council-Terminus trade and the use of Systems Alliance resources to_ _supplant the flagging turian patrol and security_ _obligation_ _…"_

* * *

 

_Alliance Operational Command Compound, Earth  
08:30, 17 January 2185 ASC (14:30 Local Time)_

Steven Hackett stared across his desk at the holographic image of a rather resigned-looking Colonel Yangfan Schmidt. "If it's any help at all," the man said, his expression downcast but his steel-grey eyes still level with Hackett's own, "I'm fully prepared to offer my resignation."

"I can't accept that. The tech people tell me Shepard got cut off because the upgrades the quarians installed in our battlenet used a nonstandard bitmask and handled priority tactical messages as errors. I looked at the logs, you'd scheduled all the necessary tests for the system, they just weren't _finished_ by the time Cramen's gang crash-landed, and you had your techs working as quickly as they could to get it back online. You did everything _right_ , Yang. This could've happened to anyone."

"That's exactly my point. Comm glitches _happen_ , sir, and when they do we have standing orders in place to make sure we can carry on. But someone a long way back decided the best defense was a good offense and we needed to get into position to hit turian airstrips and not intervene beyond that. And people died."

"Yang." Heckett leaned back and closed his eyes briefly. "I also can't accept your resignation because Councilor Sparatus messaged me specifically to say that the Hierarchy won't consider it." He fished the relevant datapad out from the several spread across his desk more or less randomly and read off the relevant section. "'Honorable lives were lost on Janus, and lost needlessly. The Turian Hierarchy is gratified to witness the Systems Alliance coming forward to admit their part in this matter in an honest and forthright manner; however in the meritocratic system we understand that the blame for failure rests not on those who carried out orders but in the superiors who placed them in a position ill-suited to their abilities. Therefore, we will not accept restitution in the form of punishment of the personnel serving on MacGowan Base.'" He put the pad back down. "There isn't really a lot to add to that."

"Then… perhaps you'd be willing to accept a transfer request."

"Is that what you _want_? I don't want you to think you have to take the fall on this."

"Sir, I'm just an overpromoted fighter jock-"

"You're a combat commander, Schmidt, and a damn good one." Hackett interjected.

"Six of one, half-dozen of the other. Sir, if I can speak freely?"

"Of course."

"We've been sending 'damn good combat commanders' out here to MacGowan for thirty damn years now, trying to show the spikies we can handle ourselves, that we mean business, and when something finally does go down we get caught with our thumbs up our asses and no idea how to respond because the spikies _weren't the problem_. I had to turn away _Garrus Vakarian_ because he was a turian national and I couldn't hand him classified reports on Terminus smuggling when he and Shepard could've stopped the whole thing earlier and maybe saved some lives. For God's sake man, we've been living a hundred klicks away from those guys for thirty years on a well-stocked military base and we still have to go through the Citadel just to _talk_ to them. MacGowan base needs a diplomat and a customs officer, someone who's worked with the Hierarchy before and knows how to use all the gear we've got sitting around in storage to get a handle on these Terminus outfits. And that's not me."

"Well." Hackett paused for a moment, feeling a perverse obligation to give the impression he was carefully considering the issue when in fact Schmidt had won him over quite handily. "In that case, consider yourself reassigned to our Terminus rapid-response fleet, effective immediately."

"I…" Schmidt stuck out his hand, bulldog features showing genuine warmth for the first time in a long while, then awkwardly pulled it back when he saw that he was phasing through Hackett's desk. "Thank you, sir."

Hackett scribbled himself a note to have the necessary forms filled out and transmitted to Naval Operations, then let the transmission power down. Almost immediately he was greeted by two other 'call pending' icons, one from the Citadel and one from the office building across the street. He quickly shifted both of them into a group conference tab and after a few seconds of computerized garble found himself looking once again at David Anderson and Donnel Udina.

"Councilor. Secretary. What's the latest?"

"This isn't looking good for us," Udina began, "The Alliance dropped the ball on Janus and everyone- _especially_ on the Migrant Fleet- knows it."

"I'll talk to Shepard face-to-face. See if we can get her to take a bit more credit and stop bringing up the turians," Anderson suggested.

"Good luck with that. _I_ don't think this is something we can win. The Turian Army just released the identities of the terrorists. Six of them are ex-Alliance military, and two others were active-duty- we listed them AWOL when they didn't come back from leave on Tunis Al-Jadida and that was the end of it. You're welcome to try to explain _that_ to the Admiralty Board, but-"

_"_ _Gentlemen._ " Hackett's voice brooked no dissent. "One thing at a time. Let's start simple. What's the batarian angle."

"Right." Anderson reached out of the holofield and retrieved a data pad. "The batarians _have_ released a statement asking that the Hegemony subject Shepard captured be returned. Pretty standard batarian stuff, complaints about unfair treatment and failure to respect the Hegemony's sovereignty, but they _do_ end up confirming that 'Falo Cramen' _is_ indeed the favored nephew of Fleet Lord Halikoss Cramen, so that should save Naval Intelligence some headaches."

"Do they _really_ think they'll get any traction endorsing nuclear terrorism against a neutral party?" Hackett asked, incredulous.

"It's not about 'endorsement'," Udina cut in, "Young, high-caste batarians are expected to leave the Hegemony and spend a few years 'seeing the galaxy' and getting mixed up in God knows what. They're not endorsing the anti-Fleeters one way or another, but to them Cramen's just a good kid who fell in with the wrong crowd and they'll insist that holding him in custody is disproportionate punishment."

"Hmm. Then he might be useful as a bargaining chip, at least," Hackett suggested.

"He _is_ being held by the turian military and not by us, but I'll draft a message to Councilor Sparatus requesting a hand in where he ends up-"

"Not a good idea," Anderson cut him off, "We're going to feed the turians' ego even more by coming to them, and hand them even more credit in front of the rest of the Council for cleaning it up."

"Then it's probably not worth it," Hackett began, and held up a hand to silence Udina's indignant reply, "Domestically, I mean. The Joint Chiefs've been making noises about using Cerberus resources to consolidate our leadership again, and I'd like to avoid feeding them ammunition if it's at all possible. Cramen would only be helpful against the _batarians_ , anyway." Despite the overheated rhetoric coming from the Extranet talking-heads about the brutal and immoral practices of batarian slavers, by and large the major drive of conflict between the Systems Alliance and the Batarian Hegemony simply came down to _territory_ \- both powers wanted to expand into the garden-world-rich Attican Traverse, and weren't shy about trying to drive the other out by less than peaceful means.

Or at least they had been, until two years ago when the Systems Alliance became a voting member of the Citadel Council and- after cutting a surprisingly lenient deal with the salarians and asari to secure their support over the predictable objections of Councilor Sparatus- received official Council recognition for the entire region as human territory where further batarian incursions would be met with the full might of the combined Citadel fleets. Relations with the Hegemony hadn't exactly _thawed_ since then, quite the opposite in fact, but with the Skyllian Blitz now a distant memory and the Alliance's military strength growing in leaps and bounds the batarian section of Hackett's daily briefing had been growing smaller and smaller. In absolute terms the Hegemony had come out ahead in the Reaper Crisis, ironically enough due to the same "Arathot Massacre" their diplomats and media now railed about on a daily basis denying the living ships an entry point near the center of their space, but they still had a great deal of catching up to do.

"I think it's time we discussed the, ah, _elephant in the room_ here…" Udina continued, snapping Hackett out of his reverie. "The quarians are making noises about backing out of the treaty agreement. Daro'xen's accusing us of using the turians to dodge responsibility for the Exile and anti-quarian sentiments in general, and it's been getting a lot of traction in the Fleet. The Admiralty's already calling for a face-to-face summit with Sparatus and High Command to cut a fairer deal."

"I don't think we can win this one," said Hackett, "If we can't control the terms of the investigation there's no telling what sort of damaging information the turians might dig up. I think we should quit while we're ahead and let Sparatus table the whole thing."

"Sir, we're in a position to address a _whole_ lot of abuses going back to the Contact War here, and I don't think we can-" Anderson began, but Hackett silenced him with a wave of his hand.

"We can't risk jeopardizing our position with the quarians _now_ over what happened to us a decade ago, David."

"Well, all right, but I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop from Sparatus."

"I don't think it will," said Udina, "He's been… _unusually_ restrained, in fact. I was expecting to handle direct criticism and we've seen nothing. I think we have an opening to turn this around and cool down the situation. Acknowledging what his men did will handle Shepard as well, and if we come out in support for joint operations against the smuggling rings we can probably convince the quarians we're _both_ working to respond to a common problem. Instead of trying to go up against the turians while they're in a position of strength, we can both win politically."

Hackett leaned back in his chair and thought it over for thirty seconds or so, a headache already building up just behind his eyeballs. What Donnell was proposing made a good deal of sense, as did most of his diplomatic maneuvering- the man _was_ Secretary of State, after all. But Admiral Mikhailovich was demanding a 'stand against false accusations of racism' and the rest of the defense apparatus didn't seem inclined to take a much more moderate view.

Finally, Hackett came to a decision and leaned forward again. "I think we're on our way to a bad spot with this. The press is going to dig up a bunch of old Terra Firma nut cases if they so much as turn over a _rock_ now, and it's not going to be hard for the batarians or some other rabble-rousers to convince the Migrant Fleet we're just the turians two-point-oh. Sparatus is giving us a way out; I think we should take it. The Joint Chiefs won't take kindly to it, but if I recommend your plan to the Prime Minister personally there isn't a lot they can do."

Udina stood and brushed a few imaginary specks of dust off of his tan formal jacket. "Then we should probably get started."

* * *

_Commerce District, Janus Free Port  
09:19, 17 January 2185 ASC (10:21 Local Time)_

Bits of shattered plexiglas crunched under Garrus's boots as he made his way across the scuffed beige carpet of what had until recently been the offices of Voromak Security Couriers, LLC. The mixed force of SAMC and Turian Army MPs already waiting for him inside had worked like a well-oiled machine, cordoning off both entrances and sweeping the entire area for hostiles or explosives in under two minutes- although Vakarian supposed that wasn't particularly impressive given that the entire office block was completely empty. The security cameras in the building across the street had confirmed that until a day ago this had indeed been a working company employing nearly a dozen mostly turian staff who kept very regular schedules, then, to a man, they'd all left at the end of the local business shift and simply never come back.

He waved the thick gauntlet of his armor's built-in engineering omni over another empty workstation. _Nothing_. None of the computer systems were _damaged_ in any way and there was no sign of any data having been overwritten- if there had been, he could've just brought the drives back to the _Normandy_ , where the onboard Cerberus equipment would have been more than capable of teasing out latent electrical signatures of previous files- so much as they had never been used in the first place. Every single terminal had been unboxed, run through the first-time configuration process to work over the area network, and then left completely unused.

"Garrus, take a look at this." Beside him, Shepard pointed to one of the desks and he stepped over, deploying his omni's high-contrast UV lamp to better pick out traces of dust against the cheap laminate. Then he did the same for the next desk over, and the next. Each one of them held the faint impression of a completely different terminal.

That pattern looked… not _familiar_ , exactly, as familiarity implied some measure of emotional connection, but _known_. Like he'd seen it before, an uncountable number of times, and never bothered to pay it any attention. Until now. "Give me a minute." He ran a quick extranet search and before too long had located a site run by a group of military hardware collectors which included fully-rotatable 3D models of virtually every piece of electronics used by a Citadel or Terminus power since the Krogan Rebellions- including the ruggedized portable terminals used by Recon and other elements of the turian special forces for command and control functions. The arrangement of rubber grips on the bottom matched perfectly.

"Shepard, we can call off the forensics team," she gave him a confused look, and he continued, "They won't find anything here."

* * *

"This can't be right." Garrus rapped a talon against the display screen, just overtop of the timestamp on the human fighter's gun camera feed. "Nobody was even in the air until five minutes after that freighter landed. The surface-to-orbit guns had a perfect shot. Why didn't they take it?"

"Joker was asking the same thing about the cutter in orbit. I understand why they didn't fire on the freighter right away- they didn't want to cause a diplomatic incident. But he'd never seen a cutter handle that sluggishly. Said it was like someone was flying it with an omnitool."

"Hmm."

The human woman shook her head. "I'd like you to take a look at the forensic audit report yourself, but as near as Naval Intelligence can tell this… uhh, _Voromak_ outfit- weird name, that- didn't _exist_ until a week ago."

"Any luck interrogating the terrorists we captured?"

"No dice. Officially they're in turian custody, but we can't get to 'em. Naval Intelligence tracked them back to Palaven, but they didn't go to any of the regular military detention camps. They get shipped to some base out in the middle of the desert, and then the trail just… _ends_."

"Damn. Talk to Args, she wouldn't give up interrogation rights without a fight. She might know more."

"I'd love to, Garrus, but... she's gone, too."

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:** I have been writing _Palaven's Dogs_ in 'blocks' of one mission at a time, getting the entire mission on paper before going back and breaking it up into chapters. We've just finished the first (of approximately twelve), and the second is about 33% actually written and 75% outlined. Therefore, the story will probably be going on a bit of a hiatus before more material starts appearing. I am currently working overtime on completing my master's thesis and as a result have very little time or mental energy to spare on writing- my typical output is between about 500 to 700 words a day and I am currently lucky to get around 300- but I expect my schedule will be freed up substantially sometime in August.


	13. Gunboat Diplomacy

" _A true friend stabs you in the front."  
_

– Oscar Wilde

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, Low Orbit Over Palaven  
05:32, 24 January 2185 ASC_

Her target was located atop a mesa overlooking the Great Limestone Desert. According to what cursory information was available about the place it served as a long-term storage and decommissioning facility for the assorted chemical, biological, and nuclear weapons that were still occasionally unearthed in the out-of-the-way corners of turian civilization. It was an odd practice for the efficiency-conscious Hierarchy in the age of delta-M where virtually anything could be safely disposed of simply by launching it into a nearby star, and both David Anderson and Garrus Vakarian had very quickly come to the conclusion that there weren't many more obvious places someone with turian military contacts could have covertly acquired a small fission warhead.

The _Normandy_ had crept in-system under slow FTL, bypassing the mass relay entirely- one of the key components of their new third-generation stealth system was a scaled-up version of thermal clip technology that shunted excess heat into ejectable canisters of liquid sodium, which allowed the ship to remain undetectable for days or potentially _weeks_ if they thought to pack the cargo bay with a sufficient number of spares. Eventually the canisters themselves would burn through their insulative shielding and become a trail of glowing thermal breadcrumbs, but Shepard planned to be long gone by the time that happened.

Looking over the tactical display in the darkened CIC, however, it had occurred to her that she may not have needed to bother. It was now public knowledge that the Palaven home fleet was still operating at less than half strength, and most of that consisted of repair and engineering craft loaned from the Salarian Union or Migrant Fleet at exorbitant cost, but seeing the gaps in their patrols was still sobering.

Nonetheless, she wasn't taking any chances. She had suited up and was waiting in the cargo bay by the time they'd settled into a low orbit, and jumped off the ramp as soon as Joker gave the signal. The descent rig on her back was providing barely enough mass effect to keep an ordinary humanoid from liquefying in her armor during the deceleration- counting on her augmented circulatory and musculoskeletal systems to take up the slack Shepard had asked Engineer Donnelly to deliberately suppress most of the power and leave virtually nothing by which turian orbital defenses could identify her as different from the countless pieces of debris still left over from the Battle of Menae and steadily trickling into the gravity well.

Shepard could count the number of orbital drops she'd made during her career one-handed – contrary to what early space-militarization theorists had imagined, just because one technologically _could_ drop troops directly from orbit didn't mean it was necessarily advisable for the same reason her terrestrial forebears hadn't arrived in every combat zone by parachute – and it always surprised her just how _peaceful_ the initial descent was. It gave her time to think, which right now wasn't necessarily for the best. Her orders from the Alliance had then been short and to the point: investigate the likely security breach, find whoever was responsible for embarrassing the SAMC on Janus, and make certain it didn't happen again. In theory she had a great deal of operational latitude in terms of how to carry out those orders, but it didn't take a psychologist to figure out what the officers who'd drafted them - officers like Tyler and Mikhailovich, who'd lost a lot of credibility over Janus and even more when Admiral Hackett had taken a softer line with the turians - assumed "making sure it doesn't happen again" would involve. She still had her Spectre credentials, and one did not send the First Human Spectre to deliver a formal letter of protest.

There was a harsh impact as she hit the lower atmosphere and began decelerating in earnest, and once she blinked away the spots in her vision a seemingly endless expanse of bone-white dunes was rushing up at her with alarming speed, criscrossed at seemingly random intervals by modern barbed-wire fencing and ancient-looking, half buried concrete fortifications of uncertain type. Thinking quickly she scanned the area for a slightly darker section of exposed rock and angled towards it, tucking her limbs inward at the last second and trying to turn as much of her momentum as possible into a forward roll.

It didn't much seem to help when the ground finally slammed into her- Elizabeth slowly pulled herself back onto all-fours and swallowed, tasting blood. Even with the mass-effect field an ordinary human would likely have broken bones from the impact, but never once had she considered landing in the sand dunes a meter to either side. Not only would kicking up a plume of the stuff on impact have given her away to the facility's defenses, but orbital scans they had taken on a previous pass had revealed virtually every square meter of soil surrounding the place to be loaded with anti-personnel mines. Her landing site, however, had put her past the densest sections of the field, in an area also patrolled by live guards- live guards who had to follow paths. Those paths were changed on a daily basis by remotely deactivating sections of the minefield so potential intruders couldn't just follow the patrol routes, but the Cerberus prototype ECM system currently linked to Shepard's helmet could identify the mines' telemetry in real time and lead her through the narrow gaps in their sensor nets.

Taking care to stay crouched low to the ground, relying for the most part on the natural camouflage offered by her newly sand-colored armor and the pitch-darkness of the desert at night as opposed to an infiltrator cloak and its potentially-revealing energy signature, Shepard started out along the jagged, switchbacked path projected in her HUD.

* * *

_"_ _Justice Minister Wately is expected to step down following widespread criticism in Parliament over his controversial statements calling for the reinstatement of a civilian Defense_ _Secretary_ _…"_

_"…_ _Noble Circle of Dalatrasses have acceded to a Citadel summit with opposition leadership, although of course it's not yet entirely clear which factions will be represented or for that matter which will even be willing to negotiate…"_

_"…_ _I have…_ zero _military experience and even I can tell there's_ no way _the Hastatim Corps actually operates like this in real life. I mean, just a quick Codex search_ _says_ _that the order of events shown in the game are completely backwards. The Hastatim Corps sweeps an area for resistance and_ then _the evacuation teams come in…"_

_"Maybe Kaiqui Roth should go talk to the guys on the ground and hear what_ we _think about the spikies. Oh, wait, that would require a politician with a brain and no desire to get reelected…"_

_"… important to remember that while many of these purported genophage cures advertise themselves to contain or be based off of Reaper technology the vast majority of them are in fact completely mundane and those few which do contain some sort of anomalous element are no more effective and a good bit more dangerous. Cerberus, of course, remains fully committed to identifying and neutralizing_ any _possible extragalactic artifacts with all necessary force, so even small-time fraudsters can expect the repercussions of their actions to be extremely serious indeed."_

_"… The other way around doesn't make_ sense _, what, do they just go through and have everybody who wants to stay behind take a number and say a Mass-Murder Representative would be will them shortly and play shitty muzak? Who the fuck_ would _stay behind, anyway, if they had a choice? I dunno, everyone in this game is an idiot with no fear of personal harm so maybe two wrongs make a right there…"_

_"_ _While it's true that an informal 'honor guard' consisting mostly of off-duty Alliance and Quarian Marines has developed around the Janus Ossuary 'until such time as it can be properly reinstated at an appropriate location on Shanxi', we can confirm tonight that the male quarian whose drunken outburst and subsequent removal from the premises has thus far accumulated nearly six billion views on popular extranet hosting sites is not, in fact, Admiral Dano'lev vas Seliq but rather a close business associate and policy advisor by the name of…"_

_"C-SEC spokeswoman confirmed this hour that Excdera will be joining the already extensive list of Illium brokerage firms indicted for insider trading on the prefabricated structures market…"_

_"Legitimately… I_ legitimately- _the first time I played through this thing I thought the AI was bugged and the NPCs were all_ supposed _to fight you but no, that's_ literally _the way the game is supposed to be, you just wander around these maps that were probably taken from_ Tactical Force _map packs or something and kill these humans and krogan and whatever just…_ going about their day _that occasionally_ politely ask you if you could maybe stop… _\- oh yeah, well, that's until the very end…"_

_"_ _The Fleet Defense Force has traced last month's breach of the Admiralty Board secure network_ _to_ _'an entity or entities operating within the Perseus Veil', which would seem to indicate that the geth did indeed have an active hand in influencing…"_

_"_ _Of course, the impact of this massive vigil is somewhat undercut by House Cramen's completely unprompted denial that any of the participants were paid to attend…"_

_"…_ _o_ _h,_ oh _, SPOILER ALERT_! _–_ _so, at the very end_ _this bunch of… I guess they're supposed to be Marines, I dunno, some kind of humans with really shitty models_ WHO ARE COMPLETELY INVINCIBLE _show up and one-shot you and all your edgy-as-fuck squadmates in a scripted bit and then this weird computer voice asks you 'are you_ proud _of what you've don_ _nnn_ _e?'_ _and it goes back to the main menu_ _."_

_"C-SEC reports that sapient trafficking operations targeting Council citizens have increased in frequency following a slight drop in the aftermath of the Reaper Crisis. Migrants, pilgrims, freelance consorts, and other at-risk groups are advised to avoid job offers from unreferenced employers and limit travel to well-known commercial spacelines..."_

_"… no, Mister Shuttle Announcer, I am_ not _proud of what I've done. I am_ not _proud of wasting six hours on this…_ catastrophe _of a game._ Xecution Korps: Operation No Survivors … _oh Goddess I can feel myself getting dumber every time I have to fucking_ say _that … it isn't just a bad game or an_ offensive _game, it's_ insultingly _bad. I._ PERSONALLY… _As a player… I feel_ insulted _that someone thought I would pay_ money _for this. Worst game of the year._ Easily _."_

* * *

_Great Limestone Desert, Palaven  
06:20 (02:54 Local Time), 24 January 2185 ASC_

Shepard almost made it to the base of the mesa before she encountered the first guard. The signs of past development she had spotted on the drop in were getting thicker the closer she came to it- rusted-out piping and the skeletal remains of antenna farms, asphault and steel tracks that suggested the presence of some sort of wheeled vehicle; some of it retrofitted with modern floodlights and sensor arrays while the majority had been left half-buried in the omnipresent white sand. She had steered well clear of any area that looked to have been populated and used the rest for cover, slinking to within perhaps a hundred meters of the sheer limestone wall that she now realized the rest of the complex wasn't so much built _on_ as built _into_. There were multiple entrances scattered around the base that she didn't dare approach too closely, but after nearly half an hour of circling she had spotted something dark and much too crisp to be natural tucked into a seam in the rock- a structure that through the scope of her sniper rifle revealed itself to be some sort of outflow or ventilation pipe.

She had been heading for it as quickly as possible without giving her position away when a turian in green Army body armor came into view, pacing back and forth along the narrow trail cut into the cliffside. Elizabeth froze and gradually lowered herself back down onto all-fours, keeping one eye on the alien as he circled around for first one pass, then another.

There wasn't anywhere _near_ enough time for her to cross the distance between his patrols.

Carefully, Shepard flipped open her omni- the haptic interface superimposed by her helmet optics to avoid being given away by the glow of an external hologram- and set the advanced Cerberus VI inside to work on isolating the guard's heartbeat telemetry. Five minutes became ten, then fifteen before the gadget identified his encrypted narrow-band signal and flashed a green marker to indicate that it had managed to establish a loop. Two more patrol circuits passed as Shepard carefully unslung her rifle and clicked a silencer mod into the barrel assembly. Then she brought the scope up to her helmet and positioned the guard's head square in her sights.

Three more circuits. _Come on, buddy, give me_ something _._

Briefly she considered shooting to disable. But if she just left him there he could easily alert his comrades, or simply bleed out, and she could hardly drag him _along_.

The turian showed no signs of distraction or fatigue. _Of_ course _the_ _spikies_ _took guard duty in the middle of the desert every bit as seriously as they took every single other thing their soldiers did._

It had been more than an hour already, and Shepard had no idea how long it would take her to infiltrate the complex itself. Sooner or later the sun would be coming up, and she had to be long gone by then.

It was a relativistic projectile. He wouldn't even know what hit him. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

The guard completed three more laps without incident.

Then, miraculously, Shepard watched him lean against the cliff wall, pull out an omnitool, and begin typing something. He was facing _away_ from the pipe.

She was across the concrete and limestone an instant later, easily hoisting herself up onto the corrugated metal lip and into shadow. The pipe sloped gently upward for a dozen meters or so, empty except for a thin layer of grit at the very bottom that suggested water had once flowed through it. Then, very suddenly, it opened out into a much larger tunnel of vaulted concrete. Her night-vision optics caught the telltale shapes of a safety railing atop a ledge on the other side, and lights- ancient-looking incandescent bulbs, all of them inactive. That was good. If turians were expected to come down here, they had to have some way of doing so, and that meant she had a way to get back _up_.

A ladder not far away that lead up to the walkway, and at the other end of that a heavy steel door that at some distant point in time had held an airtight seal but much more recently had been lasered off of its mountings. The corridor beyond continued on for a few more meters before coming to a bend; more ancient concrete that still held the faintest residue of some kind of paint. There was light coming from the other side, quite a bit of it in fact- Shepard peered around it to find that in the middle of what looked to be an old rail tunnel a small assembly of Army-issue field lamps had been set up around a card table and two folding chairs. A turian in a black uniform was sitting in one of them.

"You can put the gun down, Commander. You're in no danger here," he said.

"Gul Rillek." It wasn't a question.

"In the flesh. Or, well, what's left of it, anyway." He tipped his head back in a turian shrug, the too-perfect reflections off of his prosthetic facial plating abnormally bright in her nightvision. Elizabeth suddenly, unaccountably, felt she was witnessing something deeply personal and retracted her helmet's visor. "I'd like to apologize for Janus," he continued, "I would have told you before we ran the operation but I was worried your communications with me would be monitored."

"So that _was_ you. Not exactly subtle, naming your weapons dealer after the nuke-happy terrorist in _Semper Vigilo_."

"It got you asking the questions that led you here, didn't it? Really, Shepard, how many people in this galaxy would read the name on that placard, recognize that it was in no way turian, and then try to decipher it in _English_? And how many of those people would I know shared my deep and abiding fascination with alternate-historical fiction? I sent out a very narrow beacon, Shepard, and you found it." Quite suddenly, Rillek smacked one hand onto the surface of the metal table in front of him, and Elizabeth's own hand twitched closer to her right thigh and the pistol magnetized there. Then he relaxed, mandibles- or, well, mandible and fake mandible- dropping out in a surprisingly genuine-looking smile. "Congratulations."

"You went to a lot of trouble to bring me here, so now you want me to… what, forgive you? Now go and sin no more?"

"I want you to tell the Alliance you intimidated me into staying out of their affairs in the future. And I want you to understand why I did what I did."

"What if I say no? What if I tell the Migrant Fleet that Blackwatch- I'm assuming you work for Blackwatch-"

"Actually, I don't." he cut her off suddenly, but didn't seem at all angry. "Common mistake, actually; Blackwatch works for _me_. But do go on, don't mind me."

Shepard made a conscious effort to continue just as she had left off, refusing to let the turian's odd remarks interrupt her train of thought. "What if I say no? What if I told Ambassador Tika'raan that _Turian Blackwatch_ recruited and organized a group of quarian-hating psychos, then equipped them with a thermonuclear device and the ability to ship it right into the heart of the Migrant Fleet? "

"You're welcome to do that, of course. It's not like I could stop you. But if you're spotted off of Palaven without my having given the all-clear code, my contacts on the Citadel and Migrant Fleet already have their orders. We'll come clean about the Turian Hierarchy having- with the approval of the relevant members of the Admiralty Board- organized a sting operation to lure individuals with significant military training and strong anti-quarian leanings together in one place using a nuclear weapon as bait. Local Alliance forces got involved, things went wrong and some of our people got hurt, so even though we accomplished our objectives we opted not to disclose what happened publicly to avoid further fraying Alliance-Hierarchy relations. Then, of course, an Alliance investigation forced us to come clean." With some effort Rillek pulled himself to his feet, bracing against the card table for support, and walked back out to the perimeter of the illuminated area. "About half of that's even _true_. These militant anti-Fleet types existed before we ever set up our operation on Janus, so it's thanks to us that they were all dealt with at once and didn't start their own organizations or just knife a quarian or three each all across the Terminus Systems. I doubt we'll ever see a formal acknowledgment of our work, but that's the nature of Blackwatch." Rillek exhaled sharply, breath fogging the air in front of him. The Great Limestone Desert got _cold_ at night- Elizabeth's armor thermometer was reading four degrees Centigrade- and she wondered if he was uncomfortable in just that cloth uniform, but he didn't seem bothered. "I don't think I'll have to bother, though, after watching what you did with that soldier."

"The fuck does that have to do with- wait, you knew where I was?"

He chuffed and resumed his pacing. "Shepard, you forget that while Cerberus may have made some improvements to the design the _Normandy_ was, and still is, a ship based on turian technology. We've had your drive core's delta-M signature picked out from the moment you entered orbit. How do you think we made sure to turn off the stealthing on the mines for you? But I digress. I wanted to see what you did to that soldier- a mech in armor with a few blood packs, by the way, programmed to fall over if you shot it- to confirm… I guess you could call it a _theory_ of mine. You killed some four thousand batarian civilians on Arathot, after all, so I know you're not squeamish about collateral damage if necessary. If you were anyone _else_ I'd wonder if you'd simply frozen up because now you had to _look_ at your target when you pulled the trigger, or if turian lives just counted more to you than batarians'. But your record doesn't offer a great deal of support to either theory. No, Shepard, I think the difference was that on Arathot those colonists died so that, however briefly, however partially, the rest of the galaxy could be spared a worse horror. Out there in the desert, though, you refused to make one one-thousandth of that sacrifice because you knew the mission you were carrying out was… _pointless_. A show of force against a fellow Citadel power to avenge the dignity of a few Alliance brass. No one would be any safer, and nothing would be gained."

"That's mighty perceptive of you, Rillek. But that still doesn't answer my question. Why am I down here?"

"Well, partially just so that you can report back to the Joint Chiefs that you've put the fear of God back into me and I won't be engaging in any operations like Janus ever again. And I truly don't plan on pulling any more false flags for a good long while, by the way. It took us since the Reaper Crisis to set all that in motion, and with the… _diminished_ logistical resources available to me while we try to rebuild I'd have a hard time justify the more ephemeral political gains to Primarch Victus. But I also brought you down here to recruit you."

"You… what?"

"Do you know why we set up fifteen cadavers between that storage yard and the drone cutter?"

"I… just assumed that's how many you could get ahold of?"

"Hardly. Small-time mercs and drug addicts die all the time in the Terminus, and no one would have noticed if fifty or a hundred got misplaced on the way to the airlock. _I_ chose that number, because that's how many Hierarchy citizens have been killed in the line of duty since the end of the Reaper Crisis, on routine raids and patrols." Slowly, Rillek's voice began to take on a lighter, more conversational tone, but Shepard could pick up the coldness underneath. "I figured that even pseudonymously, they deserved the media recognition- it's not like they'd had a chance at it without the Migrant Fleet angle, after all. The Turian Hierarchy enforces the Citadel's laws day in and day out, and sometimes its soldiers end up dying. That's just the way it is. Where's the _story_ , compared to the plight of all those hypothetical dead krogan, or the heroism of the Fifth Fleet? What's going to bring in the _Extranet traffic_?" Very abruptly he made an odd mock-spitting motion and brought the flat of his hand down on the card table with a muffled _thump_ , then continued with his arms crossed loosely in front of him and his voice eerily level. "We were only given a Council seat because they _needed_ us to stop the krogan- nobody tries to pretend otherwise. During the Morning War, when we thought your species were the next Rachnai, against the batarians, against the Reapers… back before you or I were even born my ancestors were carrying out out the Council's policies… and cleaning up the Council's _mistakes_. When things go wrong we're the first to bear the blame, but somehow the diplomatic and economic spoils of victory never quite make it all the way back to us. Look at your own service record, Shepard. Do you really think that Councilor Sparatus just happens to dislike _you_ , personally? Do you really think he'd be that petty? Whenever you do something the Council doesn't like the rest of them ask Sparatus to bother you- because of his experience with human duplicity in the Relay 314 Incident, because he can talk to you one soldier to another, because he's more able to handle logistical details… they've gone through different reasons over the years. But Sparatus doesn't decide where you are _sent_. Valern and T'sael do, and then they talk Anderson into it. Did you know that? It's the reason why Cerberus and the STG have sanctioned Collector research initiatives, and we don't."

He leaned back in his chair and looked her in the eye. "We're the disposable warrior class of the Citadel. We always have been from the very beginning. And if High Command hadn't been too gullible and honor-bound to realize it, then maybe the history of the last thirty years would have been very, _very_ different."

* * *

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

*Surfaces like a doughy, bespectacled Swamp Thing from beneath a massive heap of computer vision textbooks and MATLAB printouts.*

So, the good news for me is that I am preparing to defend my Master's thesis in computer science and will shortly be offered a paid research position as part of the PhD program. That's also bad news for you because it means as of late I've not had a great deal of time to dedicate to side projects like _Palaven's Dogs_ , although I do foresee the amount of material I am able to produce accelerating substantially as we move on into the next two missions which will _hopefully_ not require too many changes from the original draft of the story and therefore should be amenable to reusing large sections therefrom with little adjustment.

* * *

I was a bit iffy on the longer opening section of this chapter and didn't think there would be any tension to whether or not Shepard would blast her way into a turian military base, but the response from people who didn't know in advance how the setup was going to end was pretty good so I decided to go through with it regardless.

* * *

I am not naming names, but there are some otherwise highly competent authors out there I have read who seem to think the Hastatim Corps _actually works the way my fictitious 'Hunt Down the Freeman' clone portrays them_. I can't imagine the level of cognitive dissonance required to not see the logistical impossibilities of that arrangement.


	14. Fortunate Son

_"Some folks inherit star-spangled eyes;_   
_Lord, they send you down to war!_   
_And when you ask 'em 'How much should we give?'_   
_Lord, they only answer 'More, more, more…'_   
_It ain't me, it ain't me! I ain't no military son._   
_It ain't me, it ain't me! I ain't no fortunate one…"_

– Creedence Clearwater Revival, _Fortunate Son_

* * *

_Alliance Signal Corps Outpost Victor-Six, Shanxi_   
_22:01, 22 November 2157 ASC (18:54 Local Time)_   
_Twenty-Five Years Ago_

Researcher-Captain (Junior Grade) Gul Rillek stared through the laboratory window at the human officer they had captured, waiting for the intelligence officer beside him to finish her security check. The human stared right back and made what Rillek understood to be an obscene hand gesture- the base they'd taken over lacked proper interrogation rooms with cameras or one-way glass, and they couldn't bring any of the prisoners back to more proper facilities until the Army had managed to track down whatever heavy-weapons unit had moved into the area and begun taking potshots at their transports. Rillek himself had been flown out on the second-to-last crafy to make it safely, for an on-site analysis of the research facility's documents. He'd told his supervisor back at Quingdao that he expected the trip to take no more than two hours. That had been eight hours ago.

Now it was getting dark and Gul was getting worried- he'd sat in on interrogations of humans and sifted through gigabytes of their communications, but that had been back at his desk in a converted office block in one of the safest regions of Shanxi where the defending forces had done the honorable thing and complied with their General's order to surrender. But there were still a _lot_ of bases on the planet that were either hidden or dug in too deeply to bomb, and so the fighting had continued- something that hadn't done much to endear the aliens to the Hierarchy rank and file. The idea that just over the natural embankment a kilometer or so from his current location soldiers was still trading sporadic fire with _armed and armored_ humans who were doing everything in their power to see every turian on the planet dead or worse took some getting used to.

Three months ago he hadn't even expected to _be_ here. He'd spent his military service carrying a datapad instead of a rifle, studying linguistics and psychology, and it was only by lucky accident that his flight back from an economics conference on Irune had put him close enough to volunteer for a chance to help the Hierarchy make sense of the strange and aggressive mammalian species they'd encountered trying to open a Citadel mass relay.

The intelligence officer- Palladius, Gul thought she'd said her name was- made an impatient sort of _hff-whff_ noise, and he realized she was probably expecting some sort of insight as to the prisoner. "In honesty, Academician sir, I'm not sure what you're expecting to get out of this one. The techs've found nothing here of any real interest, just surface-to-orbit sensors comparable to anything a good-sized colony might deploy."

"A good-sized _Council_ colony," Rillek corrected. He shot one last look at the human captive, recalled that the species' hearing was supposedly a fair bit more acute than the turian average, and motioned for both of them to step outside the converted physics lab. The setting sun gleamed dully off of Palladius's body armor and pale-gray plates, picking out dirt, concrete powder, and a few alarming splatters of red and blue. Not for the first time, the analyst wondered when anyone out here had bothered to _bathe_. "You're on the right track in identifying this as a research and testing outpost, and a secretive one at that. To the humans those sensors are new technology worth defending. Maybe worth expending resources to keep us from learning they've developed it. We can exploit that." He stopped walking, and turned to face the intelligence officer head-on. "I'd like you to order a tougher interrogation schedule, and I'd like to sit in."

Palladius rounded on him, mandibles pressed against her jaw. "This isn't an Op-Force Twelve vid, you know. Humans -and anything else- don't start telling the truth because you've hurt them bad enough."

Rillek raised his hands and took a step backward. "I never said I wanted them _tortured_." While the Turian Army's treatment of human POWs first and foremost sought to preclude suicide or escape and was as a result far from comfortable, the invasion of Shanxi was still being conducted under Hierarchy jurisdiction and no one was being beaten or starved. Some of the rank and file who'd lost comrades to the aliens may very well have wished otherwise but discipline was a powerful thing.

Of course, Gul had _also_ seen what was happening to human soldiers deemed too dangerous and of too little strategic value to justify the expense of holding- his route from the landing strip early that morning had taken him past more than a few recently-dug trenches. It wasn't as though the Army had anywhere else to _put_ them- with the head-in-the-sand Council still refusing to acknowledge the growing mountain of evidence that Shanxi was _not_ in fact the human homeworld and even the most paranoid turian analysts having realized only recently the true scale of the mammals' likely capabilities, far too few reinforcements were arriving far too slowly. Gul's own presence so close to the front lines was proof of that.

"I'm not asking you to torture anyone," he repeated when he caught sight of Palladius's bemused expression and the curious glances they were both getting from the infantrymen standing guard around the complex. "I just want the humans under pressure to _talk_ so we can see what they make up. They might provide us valuable information on their assessment of _our_ technology."

"Capabilities we have that they didn't anticipate, hmm, I can see how…" Palladius trailed off, giving one of the infantrymen who Rillek only then noticed was staring directly at them a slight, almost imperceptible nod. Then she turned to him and muttered "Stay down," before incredibly quickly drawing her sidearm and squeezing off three shots at the same time as the infantryman sprayed the entire area with his assault rifle.

The sound of gunfire was _immensely_ loud, much more so than the noise of the sidearm he'd been given for more or less ceremonial purposes upon his Academy admission- and on the solitary day he'd been sent down to the firing range to learn how to handle it safely, he'd been provided with hearing protection. That obviously wasn't going to be possible here.

Rillek jumped backwards as an armored human figure materialized in the center of the walkway, staggering forward and collapsing in a pool of watery red blood. More human infiltrators flickered into being further down the sidewalk – the Army guards were trading fire with them and scrambling to get to defensible positions – over the gunfire and screams for backup he heard something that sounded ominously like an engine coming from over the ridge at the edge of the complex – then Palladius's armored shoulder crashed into him and sent him sprawling behind a pile of supply crates just before a sniper round reduced her head to slime and bone chips.

Indigo blood splattered the armor vest Major Krav had insisted he wear and Rillek yanked himself backwards in an undignified pyjak-walk, then froze and tried to keep from breathing as two more humans- regular infantry, he noted, not infiltrators- charged around the corner and cut down the turian soldier next to him who had been trading fire with their sniper. He listened until he heard them move away and then dared to look up to see one of them projecting a hexagonal barrier field from her omni while the other opened fire on the Army squad trying to advance out of one of the other buildings. First one turian fell, then another, and Rillek briefly ducked back down out of their line of sight before suddenly realizing that neither of the human soldiers had any idea he was _there._

Carefully, slowly, he managed to roll over what was left of Lieutenant Palladius and snap the assault rifle off of her dorsal hump. It was heavier than he'd expected, but the safety catch and trigger were identical to all other Hierarchy weapons; he brought it to his shoulder just as he'd seen the combat forces do and squeezed the firing contact. The weapon slammed back with such force that he was sure he'd cracked a plate or two, spraying hot metal until the thermal gauge on the side flashed red and the safety system cut in.

He'd had no idea the recoil would be so powerful; he'd missed the humans more often than he'd hit them, but just the same the female doubled over and tried to turn around as the barrier in front of her flickered and died. Rillek dropped back behind cover, landing hard on his right leg spur, as more gunfire bored into the building behind him- this time, though, it was from turian weapons, and when it cut off a few seconds later there was a three-fingered hand latched onto his armor vest helping pull him to his feet.

"You good to walk?" the soldier standing over him asked

"I think so-"

"Ok then come on let's _go_!" he half-led half-dragged Gul back towards the lab complex they had just left- it seemed like hours ago, even through he knew it could only have been a minute at most- and the older turian realized that whatever weapon kept making that distinctive _thunk-thunk-thunk_ noise that stood out over the general din was rapidly getting closer.

There were three more soldiers inside the lab; the same ones he'd seen on the other end of the street. As soon as they saw their comrade return they stood up from what they were doing- which appeared to be stripping grenades and unidentifiable pieces of equipment from two other turians slumped against a blue-splattered wall- and headed for the exit, rifles at the ready. As he passed Gul peered once again through the laboratory window, now spiderwebbed with cracks and pockmarked with shrapnel, and realized that the human inside was very much dead. Someone – Rillek had no way of knowing if it had been the Alliance forces or his own – had shot him cleanly through the head.

Then the two soldiers covering the far doorway started shooting at something just outside and he hurried to catch up with the head of the formation, struggling to draw breath in the humid air and unfamiliar restriction of his combat vest. Something fast and high-pitched flashed momentarily overhead and on pure reflex Gul twisted his head around to track its passage- moments later a section of sidewalk behind them exploded in a plume of dirt and energy easily fifteen meters tall. One of the rear-guards vanished inside of it; the other was hurled backwards just before the shockwave hit Rillek and sent him tumbling. As he scrambled back to his feet he saw that the other solider was still alive, staggering drunkenly forward and clutching his abdomen, leaving a trail of royal blue behind him. Something was dragging Gul backwards- no, wait, some _one_ , the same soldier who'd found him back near the lab complex, the nameplate on his armor read 'Cpl. Drin'- and words were beginning to become audible over the awful ringing in his auditory tines. Gul motioned behind them, still staggering to keep up, and managed to produce something he hoped sounded like "One of your men's still back there!"

"_ know there's noth_ do now _s _go_!" Drin replied, nearly inaudible over the awful racket, and then Gul managed to get himself turned around and realize they were heading for the partially-buried security bunker the Army had taken over as its command center.

It wasn't much to look at- just a collection of crates and fold-out cots with pop-up terminals awkwardly jammed overtop of rows of human computer consoles- but there were other turians in here who weren't immediately trying to _leave_ and the din from outside was blessedly cut off as the heavy blast doors ground shut behind his party: a party, Rillek realized, that had been winnowed down from a full ten-man unit to only Drin, himself, and two others.

He sat down on a crate out of the way of anyone who looked busy and waited for his hearing to return. When it did, Gul realized that Major Krav and another officer he vaguely remembered from the flight in were arguing over one of the larger holocharts. He waited for a gap in the intermittent passage of troops moving between them and stepped forward to try to catch what they were saying more clearly, and was surprised when both officers stopped what they were doing and turned to face him. "That's the guy, sirs," Corporal Drin spoke up from somewhere off to Rillek's left. The researcher hadn't even realized he was there. "That's the sneaky bastard who flanked those vanguards."

" _Academician, sir!_ " Both Krav and the other soldier -Olanix, Gul thought his name was- greeted him in unison and pulled their left arms across their keelplates in crisp salutes. "What's your assessment?" Krav continued.

"My… assessment?" Something large and heavy slammed into the bunker, momentarily blacking out the lights and nearly sending Gul to the floor. But he forced himself to keep standing, and keep the officers' attention on him. "- my assessment is that you need to pull your men back and call in a satstrike on this location."

"But sir, we can still hold the command center!" Olanix cut in, "Long enough, at least, to finish backing up the database offsite, there's intelligence here that-"

"Denying it to the humans is more important." Rillek replied. It was an odd feeling, having seasoned officers defer to him on tactics. Rank-and-file soldiers had always been deferential to analysts like himself, but for the most part they just tried to stay out of each other's way. But as far as he was concerned, knowing what he and Palladius had deduced the proper course of action was obvious, and if the Army was willing to put it into practice so much for the better.

"All right!" Krav had already turned and was addressing the room at large. Rillek was startled to realize that only some twenty soldiers were still in it- one of whom was currently thrashing around in a pool of his own blood as a medic struggled fruitlessly to hold him still. "In ten minutes this entire complex is gonna be dust," the Major continued, heedless of the odd, strangled noises the man on the ground was making. "You." He turned back to Rillek. "You're a linguist, aren't you? Think you can talk like one of those fur-faces?"

"Well, their throat structure is different from ours so I've needed to use the vocoder in my omni to properly-"

" _Yes_ or _no_?" The officer barked. The wounded man had finally fallen silent, and Rillek was briefly glad he'd no longer be distracting the remaining troops before he realized exactly what that meant. _On second thought, m_ _ake that nineteen._

"Yessir."

"Good. We're going to hijack one of their personnel carriers and we need someone who can talk to them over comms. Olanix, you've got the tag!" It was a rushed and desperate plan, and like most rushed, desperate plans Rillek wasn't confident on its chances of success, but he supposed they didn't have many other options. "I need three men with heavy guns to stay here and keep 'em occupied-" a half-dozen of soldiers stepped forward, grim-faced, and after a moment Krav continued, "Cassia, Nyx, and Marus. Rest of you, form up!'

Still carrying Lieutenant Palladius's blood-splattered rifle, Gul found himself packed into the bunker's south entrance hall with a dozen other soldiers. Olanix and Corporal Drin were at the head of the group, waiting as a technician fiddled with the door lock.

"You really think we're gonna make it out of this?" Someone asked.

"We got that killer academician riding on our humps. That's gotta count for something, right?" Olanix replied just before the blast door ground open and Gul found himself for the second time that day sprinting through alien gunfire.

The men around him spread out as soon as they got out into the open, bobbing and weaving through the struts of the complex's on-site electrical substation in loose groups of two or three. Rillek wound up alongside Drin and two Privates, falling almost by reflex into the rear-guard position as he struggled to keep up and fight the pain building in his legs and dorsal hump. Today he'd already run more than in the entire month he'd spent here previously and it was past starting to show, but he didn't dare slow his pace. Humans weren't especially fast or light on their feet, but they showed impressive stamina and had leveraged that ability to alarming effect by simply running the comparatively fragile turian infantrymen to exhaustion. Gul wasn't about to let that happen to him, poor conditioning be damned.

Drin called out something that sounded vaguely like a direction and Rillek twisted around mid-step to spot a trio of armored humans ducking around some large piece of high-voltage equipment. With a start he realized both of the Privates were already firing at something in the other direction. For the second time that day he pressed the butt of Palladius's borrowed rifle against his aching shoulder and opened fire, this time pausing every second or so when the thing tried to leap out of his hands. Two of the humans ducked back to cover but the third's shields flared bright blue and dissipated, leaving him slumped against the side of the transformer, struggling to rise. After a moment one of the others reappeared and tried to drag the man to safety, so Rillek took the opportunity and shot her as well.

Then they were out of the fenced-in area and running over asphault instead of concrete. Gul nearly slammed into one of the Privates as the other turian dove for cover behind a low retaining wall, his legs finally giving out and depositing him with the muzzle of Palladius's rifle digging hard against his already bruised keelplate. That proved to be a fortunate accident as glowing relativistic rounds zipped past overhead, accompanied by that same curious sort of _thunk-thunk-thunk_ noise he'd heard previously- edging out around the side of the abutment he saw that both were being produced by the roof gun of a human APC. His wits quickly returning along with fresh oxygen Rillek realized that the machine was no longer shooting directly at _him_ and that another group who'd taken a longer route around the substation hadn't been as lucky- the three men still just outside the fence had nowhere to run and could only try to scramble backwards as the heavy autocannon tore them to pieces.

The Private he had nearly landed on was already up and moving around, leveling her sniper rifle against the top of the abutment. Her shields flickered blue with sporadic strikes from the two aliens that Rillek now spotted taking cover behind their vehicle but she stood firm and sank first one shot and then another into the human silhouettes barely visible through the vehicle's cockpit windows. The rounds struck home and the gun turret fell silent – Rillek had seen reports of a few human vehicles being retrofitted with more durable ballistic glass resistant to high-velocity turian weapons and even captured heavy shield generators, but this apparently was not one of them – and he turned to congratulate the rifleman only to find her sliding back down the wall next to him, mandibles still open in a fierce smile and blood spurting from a gash in her neck deep enough to have done the better part of severing her head.

After that they were up and running again, this time hunched over in an awkward half-crouch behind a line of temporary barriers projected by one of the techs. Rillek was just behind Drin now, eight others strung along behind him, and when they came around the side of the APC he didn't even stop to consider the absurdity of the situation before opening fire on the two humans they had managed to flank. Neither was able to put up much of a fight.

The aft ramp of the thing was already open, Lieutenant Olanix having dispatched a third human who had been waiting just inside the troop compartment. Rillek was the next inside the vehicle, the others following along two at a time as the narrow space permitted, the last turian still clutching a shotgun even as she leaned on her companion for support and heavily favored her bloody, oddly twisted right leg.

Strapped into an uncomfortable human fold-out seat and suddenly realizing how much every last bone and plate in him _ached_ , Gul fumbled with his omnitool and activated the Alliance military comm application one of the techs had ported onto it back in Quingdao, trying to compose what he hoped sounded like a convincing all-clear code. Something about a failed boarding attempt and jamming the roof gun and medevaccing some infantry who'd been badly hurt, yes, that sounded plausible and would match what other Alliance forces could've seen from afar; he wasn't trying to write the entire thing _himself_ so much as just string together English phrases he'd saved previously from other reports. It must've worked, though, because Olanix – who, like all Turian Army tech officers, was expected to become proficient in the operation of common enemy equipment – drove them right past a squad of humans with rocket launchers heading back towards the compound.

The men started to cheer and talk amongst themselves as their transport sped away across the grassland, aiming to circle around and disappear into the turian-held forests further east. Some of them were singing, an old military hymn Rillek vaguely remembered from some historical epic or another- _"_ _We said we'd all go down together; yes we would all go down together…"_ Next to him, Corporal Drin was laughing and rapping on Gul's dorsal hump a little harder than Rillek found entirely comfortable, and he had turned to ask the soldier to let him be when he caught sight through rear window of the second APC, its entire cockpit section burning napalm-blue, that was barreling out of control directly for them.

There was a lot of motion and a lot of noise extremely quickly after that. Gul was fairly certain he had blacked out, but couldn't be entirely sure- it was entirely possible the crash itself was simply that quick. He was aware of where he had ended up, though- sprawled keel-down atop a small embankment, looking out over the besieged research complex among quite a lot of scattered, twisted pieces of burnt machinery and more than a few scattered, twisted pieces of burnt turian. Something was still on fire not far from him- he could see the yellowish glow when he turned his head far enough, but couldn't feel the heat or for that matter much of any pain despite the beating he'd taken. Nor, for that matter, did he seem able to see out of his left eye or feel his left arm, which was rather odd indeed given that he could very clearly see the arm in question on the ground in front of him, still clutching the borrowed rifle and still solidly encased in armor right up to where a large piece of floor plate had sheared through-

_Oh_.

Gul could still detect movement beside him, and with some substantial effort managed to turn his head far enough to witness Olanix stumble back from out of view and land hard on the grass nearby. He could hear gunfire now, sort of, conducted through the ground to his skull anyway- both the high-pitched _skree-skree_ of turian rounds and the lower, more intermittent chattering of the humans', but the turian weapons were getting fewer and fewer and after a few more seconds stopped altogether. Olanix was back in the center of his visual field by then, crawling a little ways at a time towards Gul's abandoned rifle and leaving a trail of blood behind him, mandibles twitching but nothing audible being produced. He rolled half-over and cursed -Gul could hear that, at least- as three shadows fell across him, and Rillek was able to make out in his peripheral vision the shapes of booted human feet.

" _Bozhe moi_ , it smells like fried chicken back here," someone said. The somewhat higher pitch suggested that the speaker was female, and Rillek recognized a distinctive accent that he'd noticed occurred more commonly among humans with a somewhat lighter coloration than the species average. "That's _fucked up_."

"Y'all think the spikies actually _did_ hijack that other MAKO?" another human asked, and Rillek noticed that the most likely speaker – a male, this time – was limping slightly. Survivors from the troop compartment of the other vehicle, then. "Then send out a fake comm signal? 'Cause if they learned how to _do_ that…"

"Oh, they're plenty smart," the third said, also a male with a different accent entirely that Rillek recognized as "Chinese", then stepped around in front of Olanix. Carefully, as though trying not to make excessive noise, the human knelt, pressed the barrel of a pistol against Olanix's forehead plate, and pulled the trigger.

"Dammit, Lao, you are one _cold_ bastard." the female said, and Rillek realized that it was only due to his immobility and battered condition that he had been spared the same fate. He also realized that Olanix had been expecting him to push the rifle _closer_.

"Well what was I _supposed_ to do, just let it bleed to death in the middle of nowhere out here all alone?!" The human named Lao shot back, "Doesn't matter if they _did_ start all this, nothing deserves to die like that."

"Yeah yeah," the other male trailed off, and then after a bit of shifting and scraping beyond Rillek's severely constricted field of view continued, "Hi, I'm a skullface! Nice to meet you! Let's be _friends!"_

_"_ What the _fuck_ , Mendez, put that _down_ , that belonged to an intelligent be-" the female continued, then trailed off abruptly as a brilliant white streak lanced down from up above and the research facility on the other side of the plain vanished instantly in a hemispherical dust cloud. The humans turned and ran before the shockwave even made it to them; secretly Rillek was thankful that it seemed to have taken out the remainder of his hearing. With nothing to see and nothing better to do, he waited for the aliens to circle back and realize they'd missed someone.

He was still waiting half an hour later when Turian Army reinforcements arrived to sweep the area and noticed he still had a heat signature.

* * *

"What about Rillek?"

"Only child, born and raised on Palaven. Graduated top of his class at Hierarchy Central Academy. Brilliant. Driven. Well-connected on the Citadel; could be an asset in our line of work."

"He's an intellectual, a historian. Zero combat experience, below-average physical and tech scores."

"I think he knows what he's talking about. I pulled his publication history: propaganda, psychological warfare, interrogation tactics… there's a lot in there I wish we were able to use on Shanxi. Shame he never became an officer."

"An analyst, maybe. But putting a terminal jockey into command of our soldiers? To lead someone in something, you need to have done it yourself at one point or another. You learn leadership by being lead."

"He got those men on Shanxi to fight for him. He got them to _die_ for him."

"Then I'll make the call."

* * *

_Citadel Presidium, The Widow Nebula_   
_05:44, 05 March 2158 ASC (14:45 Local Time)_   
_Twenty-Five Years Ago_

"Have you been sleeping all right?" The asari psychiatrist asked.

"Better, actually," Gul replied, "Prosthetic took some getting used to, but I'm sleeping with it on now."

"Nightmares?"

He shook his head. "Only one in the last week."

"Hmm. Impressive. What've you been doing with your time?"

"You don't have my terminal logs?"

The asari smiled. "We're committed to ensuring our patients' privacy whenever possible."

"Well, I've mostly been reading- newscasts and academic journals, anything about the humans. Fascinating species; I wish we could've made contact on better terms."

"Anything in particular?"

"Is that part of the evaluation?"

"No, I'm just curious. I've been trying to search human psychological texts myself but haven't been making much headway; your file says you work as a historian, I was wondering if you'd had any more luck."

"Not much. They're being very careful what media they release, and I can hardly blame them. We'll have to wait and see, I suppose. In the mean time I've been trying to learn another one of their languages- _Russian_ , it's called."

"Never heard of it. But if you _do_ find anything interesting, I'd appreciate it if you'd pass it on to me." The asari flicked open her omnitool and broadcast what looked to be a Citadel extranet address. A split-second later, Rillek's own omni glowed in response, and with some difficulty he managed to position his left hand where he could manipulate the haptic interface with his right. He'd managed to get himself out of the Hierarchy Medical Service's currently severely overburdened military hospital system and pay for a spot at one of the more expensive private regen clinics- more of a luxury hotel with biomatrix tanks in place of the conference center, really- but according to the doctors the same alien chemical exposure that had made it a lost cause to attempt to regrow his missing facial plating were slowing down the fusion of nerves in his shoulder or something of that sort- components in the structural elements of the transport that were released when the thing caught fire, apparently. Systems Alliance diplomats had turned over samples of something called "medi-gel" that was supposed to be able to drastically expedite the process, but thus far no one had synthesized a dextro-amino variant.

After a few seconds of fumbling, he managed to key in the appropriate acceptance code. "I'll do my best."

The psychiatrist nodded, and smiled again. "Well, in terms of your evaluation… I see no reason at all not to allow you to finish your physical therapy on an outpatient basis."

Fifteen minutes later, Gul was sitting on a bench in the courtyard outside, waiting for his chartered aircar with a satchel of belongings slung across his dorsal hump.

It was strange, uncanny almost, how little the Presidium had _changed_ since he'd last had reason to visit. The artificial sky was still blue, the sidewalks still swept immaculately clean, the various species passing by still smartly-dressed and seemingly unaware of any of it beyond the pale orange glow of their omnitools and comm headsets. A year ago, he would have found it comforting to return here, especially after the comparatively spartan conditions he'd had to tolerate on Shanxi, but now he found himself wondering how many of his fellow turian civil servants would ever be lucky enough to live in a place like this. He supposed he at least knew the answer to that question for Drin, and Olanix, and Lieutenant Palladius, and Major Krav, and those two shuttle pilots who'd been shot down after he'd arrived, and all of the others he'd met down on that outpost- and, for that matter, Mendez and Lao and the man those Infiltrators had probably shot and the Infiltrators themselves.

Some sort of human delegation in blue-and-gold dress uniforms made their way around the corner, led by a harried-looking salarian tour guide. They eyed their alien surroundings warily, as though expecting at any moment for someone to start shooting at them, and Rillek suddenly realized he had a better idea of what the newcomers were thinking about than he did any of the locals who scurried to get out of their way. If he were being completely honest, he supposed, he'd have to admit that he'd lied to that psychiatrist, by omission if nothing else. He was, indeed, carrying on more or less the same as he had before, but normal well-adjusted turians did not come _out_ of experiences like Shanxi more or less the same.

His chartered aircar was taking a long time in arriving, and slowly Rillek's attention drifted to one of the holoscreens back in the lobby. _"And,_ _this has just been handed to me from the newsroom,_ _Ardvig Luranis_ has agreed _to step down as Primarch of the Turian Hierarchy._ _This will leave_ _her_ _with_ _the shortest term of any Primarch in turian history, only eight weeks following Primarch_ _S_ _ebek's resignation at the conclusion of the Relay 314 Incident. Although the removal of Councilor_ _Holidus_ _was one of Luranis's major… I guess you could say_ achievements _, we have no indication at this time that_ _Holidus_ _will be returning to the Council… although even without his accedence- which, as we now understand it, was what led to his removal to begin with- the united front we are seeing from Councilor_ _L_ _ixin and Councilor T'Sael means it's still_ very _unlikely the Turian Hierarchy will be allowed to participate in_ _the_ _Citadel_ _delegation_ _to_ _the Janus Peace Accords._ _It's worth noting that despite the heavy fines levied against the turians for their conduct during the Incident markets are still at record highs as the first independent trading vessels are being permitted into Systems Alliance space…"_

Gul's mandibles clamped tight against his jaw, the left one a second or so after the right. Trade with the humans wasn't doing Rillek Heavy Industries very much good at the moment; his family's naval engineering company was the largest single supplier of the Turian Navy and had already completed a rush order for new warships that were now _extremely_ unlikely to be used or paid for. He supposed it didn't matter, though, in the grand scheme of things; his mother had left him more than enough to live comfortably on and the rest was a problem for the board of directors and their shareholders.

"Hey! You're _Gul Rillek_ , aren't you?" A flanged voice intruded on his thoughts, and Gul looked away from the holoscreen to see a tall, incredibly _pale_ turian man in dark civilian clothing sitting on the other end of his bench. "I heard about what you did on Shanxi. Amazing."

"It's nothing to be impressed by. I was just trying to get us all out of a bad situation."

"Still, going up against that many humans… if you don't mind me asking, had you _really_ never held a rifle before?"

"It's true. But the humans I killed didn't want to be there any more than I did. I was just lucky enough to make it to the end."

"They _did_ break Citadel law."

Rillek turned to face the other turian more directly. "It's easy to make laws when you're not the ones enforcing them. The whole affair was a mistake from the very beginning and I'm not proud of my part in it."

"But would you do it again, if you had to?"

Rillek leaned forward and dropped his voice to a near whisper. "Who are you? _Really_? What do you _want_?"

"Answer my question and I might tell you."

"Fair enough." Rillek supposed he should have felt he was in danger- he certainly had no faith in this stranger's intentions. But looking at the situation with his new, post-Shanxi perspective he couldn't have felt safer. This was the _Citadel_ \- there was an armed guard working for the regen clinic and C-SEC officers not much farther away who would be there in seconds if he made a scene, and once he was out of immediate danger Rillek Heavy Industries had some _very_ good lawyers. So he continued. "If I had to go back out there to fight another war… do my duty for the Council against the humans or the rachi or some other thing that came charging out of a dormant mass relay… absolutely not. We train all our lives to defend the galaxy, but never once do we stop to question where we're being sent or why. And a lot of us don't make it back. There's no honor in defending a system like that. But to put an _end_ to that system… to help shape a galaxy where the Turian Hierarchy is something more than the Citadel's attack varren… yes, I imagine I _would_ kill for that."

"Then perhaps we can help each other." The albino turian brought his right arm across his chest in a formal salute, and with a significant amount of twisting around and finally settling for just grabbing his own wrist with his free hand, Rillek returned the gesture. "I'm General Desolas Arterius, with Turian Blackwatch."

* * *

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

This was one of the most difficult chapters for me to write for the simple reason that I've never _done_ a single, contiguous action sequence this long before, with an unfamiliar character and trying to insert so much additional worldbuilding. But now that it's done I'm immensely proud of it.

* * *

The setup of the Contact War is definitely one of the things I expect to be taking somewhat greater liberties with as the story progresses, but nothing that I think would effect the end astropolitical situation. The actual groundgame here was kind of vaguely inspired both by World War 1 and the American war in Vietnam, but I wouldn't say the totality of the conflict was ever intended to be specifically analogous to any historical source.

* * *

I think that –as I did with the Janus mission– I will be writing the conclusion to this one and most of the next all at once before only then splitting it into chapters, so even though IRL concerns are a lot less pressing right now (the good kind of not as pressing where we actually were able to meet a deadline for once and submit the paper we wanted to publish to the journal we wanted to publish in!) I don't think you'll be seeing much of me for a good pong while, but there will be a great deal of content coming out when that happens.


	15. Quid Pro Quo

" _He who controls the past commands the future.  
__He who commands the future, conquers the past."_

-Salarian Proverb

* * *

_Great Limestone Desert, Palaven  
06:_ _5_ _0 (0_ _3:26_ _Local Time), 24 January 2185 ASC_

Elizabeth Shepard stared at the old turian sitting across from her for a good solid minute, trying to work through everything he had just told her. "So, what. You want me to help you _overthrow the Citadel Council_?"

"I don't know! Maybe?" Gul Rillek uttered a quick, barking laugh. "If you're up to it, I think you'd make an _excellent_ First Citizen. Or would you prefer President-For-Life? I'm flexible!" He made his way back around to her side of the card table, and Elizabeth noticed that he slightly favored his left leg. Not for the first time she wondered just what had _happened_ to the man. "But I know better than to set my ambitions too high, Shepard. I'll settle for any arrangement that gives our people the chance to _survive_. The Reapers hit us harder than anyone else, and even before that we were in trouble economically and diplomatically. There's forces gathering in the Terminus Systems that see that as an opportunity, and when they move in for the kill I don't expect the Council to stand up for us. Why should they? They have a _new_ military power to call on when things get difficult. A power that wouldn't be terribly upset to see us gone." He leaned forward and looked her in the eye, "You're an honorable woman, Shepard. I don't think you'll turn away an ally who really very desperately needs your help."

"You're assuming I _believe_ all this. Jacob Taylor always told me that the only difference between a Citadel intelligence outfit and a raving conspiracy theorist is that the conspiracy theorists typically have better-looking Extranet sites."

"You don't have to believe me. We can work together for your own people's sake just as well. I'm offering you a great deal of operational latitude in using Blackwatch's logistical, intelligence, and diplomatic resources as you see fit to advance our common interests- which, despite what Tyler and his 'Citadel Nationalist' lackeys would tell you, are substantial. You won't be kept ignorant about operations like Janus any more, Shepard; in fact, you can even request for them to be set up to forward your own objectives. I'm even willing to assign the unit that _ran_ Janus to the _Normandy_ under your operational command- I didn't involve you in that operation just for your media presence, you know. I wanted to show you what we're capable of accomplishing. And all I ask in return is that you keep an open mind about what you see out there in the wider galaxy, and occasionally think over what I've told you about the way Citadel diplomacy _really_ operates."

"That's a mighty generous offer, General. Do I get a chance to think it over?"

"Certainly." He reached under the card table and with some difficulty extracted a small metal hardcase about forty centimeters along its long axis and twenty on each side. Shepard ran her omnitool over the device, and the three-dimensional graphic that materialized in her helmet revealed it to be mostly cooling and shielding equipment surrounding a tiny cavity kept at high vacuum- a quantum containment cell. Rillek nodded approvingly. "That should be compatible with the _Normandy's_ QEC system. The other end of the link is here on Palaven. If you have any other questions I'll be able to answer them _honestly_ , without worrying that anyone else is listening in." He tapped a string of commands into his own omnitool and the heavy blast door at the end of the tunnel began to grind open. On the other side Shepard could see that the rest of the tunnel complex had been outfitted with modern electrical and ventilation systems, and apparently was being used for storage. A few turians in military techs' coveralls were milling about the area on some task or another; they snapped to attention when the doors opened and Elizabeth was briefly unsure whether they were saluting Rillek or herself. "That freight lift will take you up to one of the hangars," the General continued, "There's a transport waiting to take you back to the _Normandy_ , or if you want to call in your own landing craft we'll handle the descent clearance."

Shepard grabbed the unexpectedly heavy QCC and hefted it awkwardly under one arm, following the old soldier back into the brighter- and much warmer- section of the complex. "Shit, Rillek, you gonna offer me a _mint_ on my way out, too?"

"Just one last piece of advice. It almost goes without saying, but unlike certain _other_ officials I could name I don't believe in sending my allies out into the galaxy without making damn sure they know what they're up against. Blackwatch can get you places you couldn't go previously and provide you with targets you would never have found otherwise. But if you help us, people in the Alliance are going to come after you. Some of them might be people you used to think were your friends."

"Thanks for the warning, Rillek, but I can look after myself."

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, Departing the Apien Crest  
07:42, 24 January 2185 ASC_

Garrus paced back and forth across the narrow space of his combined office/cabin, mandibles pressed tight against his jaw. "As your XO I have to advise you this is a terrible idea."

"And as my friend?"

"I think it's even worse."

"Garrus, it's not like I'm handing Blackwatch the access codes to my personal terminal. We've had people we didn't fully trust on the _Normandy_ before, and we've kept them in line. And if you're worried about what the Alliance is going to say, don't bother. I knew I was going to have to to deal with this shit when I made you my XO. Hell, I knew I was going to have to deal with it when I talked to you on the Citadel outside that Council session. I'll manage."

"The Alliance isn't who I'm worried about. This is _Blackwatch_ , Shepard. The original renegades. They don't play by _anyone's_ rules, even their own. Anyone who tells you otherwise is delusional or lying." With Elizabeth currently occupying the only chair, Garrus settled for balancing precariously on the metal frame of his turian-style cloth hammock- one of a number of relatively modest renovations he'd made to the XO's quarters after a great deal of cajoling from the rest of the crew. "A lot like a certain ex-CSEC officer who got a lot of good people hurt before he finally learned his lesson. I don't think they _need_ an agenda, I think they can make trouble for us just by carrying out _your_ orders _their_ way."

"I really didn't get that sense from Rillek. He's… not what I expected."

"Sociopaths usually aren't."

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, Holding Station in Interstellar Space  
09:15, 24 January 2185 ASC_

"Well it took you _damned_ long enough to get this to us," Donnell Udina snapped from the bland but comfortable office on the other side of Shepard's video screen.

"Excuse me?"

"One of the objectives of our nominating you for Spectre candidacy was to help establish connections like this with the Council. It was intended to form alliances with people who can go where the Marine Corps can't. Aside from… _Cerberus_ ," Udina seemed to undergo a significant amount of physical discomfort naming the black-ops agency, "none of that ever materialized and I know the Joint Chiefs have always held me _personally_ responsible. Hmph." He shook his head. "But don't let that distract you from the task at hand, Shepard. This is the first positive development we've had since Janus. It shouldn't be the last, if you can keep anyone else from antagonizing the turians long enough for us to deal with this vas Seliq nonsense. You do seem to be fairly good at that, so as far as I'm concerned you're now the Alliance's unofficial liaison to Blackwatch. Just… be sure to keep that fact between the two of us for the time being."

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, Holding Station in Interstellar Space  
09:33, 24 January 2185 ASC_

"Good work, Shepard. This might just be the break we've been waiting for," said Councilor Anderson.

Shepard gave him a quizzical look. "You're not worried about my being approached by an alien black-ops outfit?"

"Far from it. In fact, I was hoping your Spectre credentials would get you an offer like this someday. Saren and his brother Desolas were both _heavily_ involved in Blackwatch; after the trail's been dead for so long Blackwatch may be our only lead on evidence that can prove to the entire Council what Saren and his sympathizers in the turian government planned to do to humanity." He leaned forward, bracing himself against the glass surface of his desk, nearly exiting the holofield entirely. "I know it's a lot to ask of you. It's a lot to ask of anyone. But if you can get _inside_ Blackwatch, the Alliance will have everything we'll need to expose Saren's backers once and for all, along with _everything_ else the turians have done to try to undercut us in front of the Council. Can you do that for me, Shepard?"

_I_ _f you_ _help_ _us, people in the Alliance are going to come after you. Some of them might be people you used to think were your friends._

Elizabeth struggled to keep her breathing level and not let her former CO notice the tightness suddenly building in her chest. "It'll take some time," she finally said, "and I can't tell you how long right now. But I'll keep an eye out."

"Good. I knew I could count on _you_ , at least, not to roll over just as the rest of the Council's starting to recognize us as equals. We're dealing with some very clever and dangerous people here, so I don't expect regular updates. I trust you'll know when to go public with what you've found."

"Understood. Sir."

As soon as Anderson cut the video feed Shepard stood up from her desk and poured herself a shot of brandy from the bottle she'd stashed in the removable maintenance panel for the aquarium. Then another. Then a third when she realized she'd been gripping her desk chair hard enough to dent the aluminum supports underneath the armrests.

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, Holding Station in Interstellar Space  
09:47, 24 January 2185 ASC_

"You didn't tell Anderson or Udina about this, did you?" asked Admiral Steven Hackett.

Silently, Elizabeth nodded.

"Dammit. You shouldn't even have told _me_."

"Sir?"

"You're Elizabeth Shepard, a rogue Spectre and a Cerberus operative. You're effectively above the law; you can do what you want and the Alliance and the Council will try to clean up after you the best we can. That includes letting Blackwatch troops onboard an experimental Alliance Navy infiltration craft… but I _can't_ be seen to have signed off on that. Tyler and Rey Diaz are both screaming for retaliation over Janus, Bill Hines hasn't been all _there_ mentally ever since the Reapers hit, and Luo Ji's effectively gone into paid retirement. So, by order of the Prime Minister, and by the Prime Minister I mean the Prime Minister acting under the unbiased and apolitical advisement of the Citadel Council and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, I would have to order you to have no further contact with any members of the turian covert operations."

"Well, you know I'd never disobey a direct order. The Alliance might have to refuse to arrest me again!"

"Just do what you have to do and keep it quiet." Hackett shook his head and adjusted the collar of his dress blues. "And, Shepard, for what it's worth… I think you made the right call trying to turn yourself in after the Crisis. You'd've been acquitted, of course, but a trial might've helped clear the air regarding who knew what about the Reapers when. Nothing we can do about it now, though. Alliance Central out."

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, Holding Station in Interstellar Space  
_ _10:12_ _, 24 January 2185 ASC_

"Do you have _any_ idea how long I've been trying to arrange something like this, Shepard?" asked Jack Harper. "That old bird who runs Blackwatch puts new meaning to the word 'paranoid'. None of my people have managed to get close to him… get any proof of his intentions."

"So you're onboard too, then. I was… kind of hoping you'd talk me out of it. Janus can't've been a good day for Alliance intel."

"Sorry, Commander, but we have higher priorities, and an outside perspective can be helpful in cleaning house." He leaned back in his chair for a moment, cybernetic eyes narrowing, "Don't _tell_ me you thought Admiral Kahoku learned the locations of hard-line Cerberus cells that refused my orders to reorganize by _coincidence_ , did you?"

"You're _really_ telling me you won't mind if I bring Blackwatch operatives onboard your ship?"

"I'm telling you to say yes. We're going to need all the help we can get."

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, Departing Jupiter Refueling Station  
16:44, 29 January 2185 ASC_

"Rillek! Back again already? Good-" Shepard searched the collection of display screens visible behind the old turian for something that looked like an external camera feed, "- afternoon?"

He gave a short, dry laugh. "Actually, it's a bit after 0300 on this part of Palaven, but the enemies of honor and decency never sleep and so neither do I."

"Bullshit. You wouldn't be contacting me if it wasn't important. What's wrong?"

"There's a situation developing on Tuchanka we might be able to turn to our advantage."

"You've got people on _Tuchanka_?" Based on what Alliance intel and the major Extranet news sites had been able to report -which, admittedly, wasn't much- political conditions on the krogan homeworld weren't exactly amenable to turians at the moment.

"Nowhere near as many as I'd like, Shepard. But enough to know that I'm not alone down there. The Salarian Union managed to infiltrate an STG research team a few weeks ago, and we've just recieved word they're in trouble."

"How's that the _Turian Hierarchy's_ problem?"

Rillek nodded, mandibles flicking briefly outward. "So you _did_ pay attention to me back at the Mesa. I'm impressed! But just because we can no longer afford to be the Citadel's disposable warrior class doesn't mean that every Council power is our mortal enemy. The Salarian Union still… affords us _some_ respect, at least. It's funny, isn't it, Shepard? Asari matriarchs were _alive_ during the Krogan Rebellions, but _the_ _y're_ not the ones who've kept to the lessons we all learned back then. It's not much – unlike us, the salarians can't see the toothmarks on their ancestors' bones – but we still have every reason to assist the STG in investigating Wreav's attempts to develop a cure for the genophage with Reaper technology."

"Why would Wreav smuggle Reaper technology to cure the genophage, though, when he's negotiating with the Council to get a cure _handed_ to him?"

"We don't know if he _is_ smuggling Reaper technology. In krogan-language broadcasts he's claiming he already _has_ a cure, but he's also claiming that krogan and asari can interbreed to produce krogan offspring, that Tuchanka's background radiation can cure Vroleg's Syndrome, that an ancient krogan spacefaring civilization built the Giza Pyramids and Great Solus Columnade, and that Blackwatch deliberately engineered the Morning War to prevent turian soldiers from being replaced by geth."

"Well, _did_ you deliberately engineer the Morning War to prevent turian soldiers from being replaced by geth?"

"If we had, do you think we would've let _Urdnot Wreav_ find out about it?" Rillek chuffed and shook his head. "But that hardly matters. What's important is that I suspect the salarians had to put their operation together more quickly than they'd've preferred. And, not knowing how much research would be required to counter Wreav's attempts to cure the genophage, brought along all of their own records- including information on genophage variants intended to target _other_ intelligent species. Yours and mine, for instance."

"What?" It took Shepard a moment to process what she had just heard.

He laughed. "Commander, are you really so naïve as to think the salarians don't have a version prepared for _every_ sapient species in the galaxy?"

"And you have proof that this exists?"

"Proof is exactly what I'm hoping you'll find for me when you rescue that STG team, but... if I were a salarian, it's what I would have done."

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, En Route To Tuchanka  
05:10, 30 January 2185 ASC_

"All right." Garrus rubbed the joints of his mandibles and looked out over the sextet of datapads currently occupying most of the surface of Commander Shepard's cabin desk. "Where do we _start_?"

Somewhat surprisingly Rillek had provided the _Normandy_ with his operators' personnel files over QEC not long after his 'tip' about the situation on Tuchanka – and largely sans redaction, as well. Garrus had his doubts about the veracity of the information contained therein, of course, but he supposed there was no harm in reading over the documents on the off chance that General Rillek might tip his hand and let slip some piece of actually valuable information over the course of his edits.

He began giving each of the files a quick once-over, but didn't make it past the very first pad. "Is that a _quarian_?" he asked.

"Looks like," Shepard replied, reaching for another file. "I figured Blackwatch might have people on the Migrant Fleet, but I didn't think they ever _left_ to run around with the operations teams. Weird."

"Mmmhm." Garrus extricated the pad in question and quickly skimmed over the Turii characters. According to his Blackwatch personnel file the quarian who had harassed them on Janus was in fact named _Ren'zalgo vas Orpheon_ and not Sel'Tani vas Moreh, but unfortunately his fondness for truly _dreadful_ human-style clothing seemed to be all too genuine. He'd worked as a comms and network security engineer on Noveria and a few other corporate independent colonies for a good long while, apparently, sending most of his salary back to the Migrant Fleet with the blessing of his ship's captain; despite his lack of proper military training Blackwatch had found his resume impressive enough to hire him on as a full-time technical consultant. In addition to facing off with Shepard and Ambassador Tika'Raan under an assumed identity the numerous communications foulups that had guided them towards the Blackwatch false-flag on Janus had been vas Orpheon's doing. According to his mission history he'd actually managed to _kill_ people with drones and rigged equipment on more than a few occasions, but Garrus still thought his bland civilian envirosuit looked decidedly out of place among the headshots of heavily-armed-and-armored turians occupying the other datapads.

"Those corporate types can get up to some pretty nasty business," Garrus mused, thinking out loud for Shepard's benefit, "and I think the Fleet Admirals might appreciate a warning that Blackwatch poached one of their best engineers."

"Yeah, but if word gets back to vas Seliq about it there's no _telling_ what might happen," Elizabeth shook her head, switched out the data pad she was holding for another on the far end of the desk, and frowned in confusion. "Wait, that _can't_ be right. Garrus, just how common _is_ the clan name 'Rillek' in turians?"

"It's not rare, a lot of old-guard industrialists have some kind of family relation to..." Shepard turned the datapad his way and he trailed off. "Ok. _That's_ weird." The full name of the Auxiliary Corps biotic who had assisted them on Janus was not in fact Siriacus T'Chruscov at all but Siriacus _Rillek_ ; at first Garrus was willing to dismiss it as some bizarre coincidence, but now that he had access to an image of the asari outside of a full-face helmet and recognize the gently-curving green markings that had been painted onto her pale blue skin, he could finally place the uncanny familiarity of her upper-class Palavenus accent. General Gul Rillek, apparently, had a daughter. The history included in her file mentioned that she'd started in the Turian Auxiliaries at sixteen and immediately been declared proficient in marksmanship and combat biotics so _presumably_ she'd had access to some kind of professional training early in her life, but judging by her mission history she'd advanced through the conventional forces and subsequently Blackwatch much like any other recruit with little to no influence from her father. Then again, her father's influence very probably extended to Hierarchy mission histories themselves so Garrus wasn't quite willing to say that meritocracy had indeed been upheld just yet. It was also not lost on the former detective that asari typically did not _give_ their children alien names- nor encourage them to wear turian facial markings. The level of unrepentant egotism that implied of the elder Rillek was, frankly, staggering. "So, are there _any_ turians left in Blackwatch?" he finally asked.

"Well unless the other four are geth and protheans wearing very elaborate disguises I don't think you need to worry _just_ yet." Shepard flipped another dossier his way, this one featuring an exceedingly _plain_ -looking female turian with blue eyes and charcoal-gray plating slightly dulled with age who was identified as Rijus Ta'nin. Her pale yellow facial markings were confined almost exclusively to her cheekplates and the base of her fringe, and she seemed to naturally wear an expression that Garrus remembered all-too-vividly from any number of unhappy drill sergeants during his Academy days. Although tall and exceedingly gaunt even by turian standards, what little exposed skin was visible under her immaculately-pressed black uniform revealed muscles the general consistency of thin steel cable. Her file had mentioned that she was a first-generation Cabalist cross-trained as a combat engineer, and that she'd risen to the rank of Major nearly a decade ago, before accepting a voluntary demotion to her current status as a Senior Lieutenant following some kind of complaint raised by her subordinates. It didn't go into much more detail -which wasn't surprising, since Hierarchy disciplinary records were typically sealed – but Garrus immediately wondered if the incident may have given Blackwatch some sort of leverage over the Cabalist. That wasn't exactly unheard of in the covert operations business.

He slid the pad in question over to Shepard and picked up another. 'Adrian Sevarra' proved to be to be smaller and much more compact than had been obvious under his armor- kakhi-tan plating glossy and smooth and nearly half-covered in intricate blue markings. Garrus supposed he was quite good-looking in a boyish, fresh-out-of-boot-camp sort of way that was entirely at odds with his chosen profession. The personal history included in his file had been the longest out of all of the Blackwatch operators now at least nominally under his and Shepard's command: apparently he'd been something of a delinquent as a child, with notes from several instructors bemoaning his tendency to sneak into places he didn't belong and ignore all but the very basics of his schooling, but after what the medical report simply referred to as a near fatal drug overdose he seemed to have rededicated himself to military service and secured a position as a forward scout in the Turian Army's naval infantry corps. His record after that spoke for itself, although in between his opting to bring his serrated _mexta_ shortsword with him to a personnel-file photoshoot and the very un-turian way he slouched against the back wall, Vakarian was left rather unconvinced.

Shepard leaned over to get a better look at the file and tilted her head slightly to the side in what Garrus had learned from hard experience to recognize as a gesture of puzzlement. "You think this guy's gonna be a problem?"

"I think they're _all_ a problem. This one's just less subtle about it." He tossed the pad to her and picked up the last- other than the one he was deliberately avoiding, of course. Dinalix Pollius cut a rather intimidating figure, arguably the _largest_ turian Garrus had ever encountered at a good two-and-a-half meters tall and built like a nightclub bouncer. He also looked surprisingly _young_ for a Blackwatch operative; judging by the luster of his pale gray plating the ex-detective would have figured him to be somewhere in his mid-20s. Apparently he'd been recruited directly out of the Hastatim Corps after a surprisingly long- and surprisingly early- career, although somewhat oddly unlike the others he'd turned _down_ a number of promotions beforehand. _Odd_.

"Well, I suppose there's no point in waiting around." he muttered, and finally turned to the pad with Teron Argovigian's name displayed in the title field. Her service history was largely as he himself remembered it, which meant nothing- Gul almost certainly _knew_ he would remember. After they'd parted ways five years before the end of compulsory service, however, he came across something surprising- a banner featuring the skull-and-chevron emblem of Blackwatch and indicating that everything following had been sealed by the order of General Rillek.

_Figures_.

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, En Route To Tuchanka_   
_07:00, 30 January 2185 ASC_

They finally did meet up with Rillek's men while dumping engine charge over Xawin, in a cheap batarian troopship marked with insignia of a nonexistent PMC. Shepard had planned to be on the hangar deck to greet them, but she'd remained confined to the wardroom trying to work up a reasonable tactical plan for getting the STG researchers off of Tuchanka. According to Garrus she hadn't missed much, as the Blackwatch squad had quietly and efficiently stowed their gear – just a few crates of dextro rations, medical supplies, and ammunition along with a small satchel of personal effects each – and had headed straight up to the wardroom after that. There weren't a lot of pleasantries to be had; the four turians – and, of course, a quarian and asari – now sharing the table with herself and Vakarian obviously wanted to get right down to business.

Elizabeth brought up a holographic map of Tuchanka's southeastern landmass, stitched together by EDI from reconnaissance scans made available to the Alliance Navy by the Council orbital stations. Small cross-shaped symbols showed the locations of detected weapons fire, color-coded by type and sized by time of detection; aircraft flight paths were similarly coded; but without any idea of who was shooting at whom and most importantly _why_ all of it boiled down to a whole lot of neatly-tabulated gibberish as far as Shepard was concerned. Nobody was willing to admit it, but the current state of Citadel military intelligence regarding Tuchanka was, quite simply, appalling. It wasn't that no information was getting _off_ of the planet- after all, one of the often-overlooked functions of the CDEM was to provide Extranet hookups for any krogan who bothered to beam a signal into orbit- but every faction on the ground seemed dead-set on pushing out their own narrative to be amplified and further distorted by their sympathizers on the Citadel. The Satellite imagery revealed the mass graves well enough, but Alliance Naval Intelligence, Cerberus, the Justicar Order, the Spectre Corps, and the STG all had radically different ideas about who was filling them. For her part, Elizabeth Shepard had seen enough political unrest in the Terminus Systems to make a pretty good guess that the correct answer was likely 'everyone', but that wasn't exactly helpful to her current situation. Rillek had promised that his men would have up-to-date intelligence with them when they arrived, but damned if Shepard had any idea what that was.

"So, here's where we stand," she began, looking out across the table and trying to gauge the Blackwatch team's reactions, "We need to find and extricate a group of at least five, possibly as many as ten salarian STG officers who we have no way of talking to and who don't _want_ to be found, in unfamiliar territory, in the middle of a turf war between some unknown number of krogan tribal factions with unknown dispositions who may or may not be also actively looking for the salarians and have access to _some_ kind of Citadel military-grade weaponry but we don't know exactly what _or_ where. Does that about cover everything?"

"You left out the part about bioweapons that could kill us all," Garrus cut in. "Args, did your Blackwatch pals tell you _anything_ else?"

Argovigian nodded. "Well, we don't have a location but we've got a start. Ren?"

"Of course." The quarian paused, fiddling nervously with his vest. "Although it _is_ worth noting that genophages are by definition nonlethal, so technically-"

"Ren? The assessment?" Adrian Sevarra cut in. Shepard was a bit relieved to see that he'd opted not to bring the shortsword he was apparently so fond of to the briefing as well.

"Erm. Yes. Right. General Rillek believes the official reports being produced by the CDEM to be untrustworthy, but we maintain a number of backdoors into the system. That has allowed us to intercept sufficient krogan tactical communications to analyze statistically." He produced a data chit from one of the pockets of his environmental suit. "If I may?"

Garrus held up a hand to cut him off. "I'd prefer if you kept unverified code off of the _Normandy's_ systems. We've gotten burned before," he said in a far too neutral tone.

"It's- it's just a slide deck outlining my-"

" _He_ doesn't know that," Din Pollius muttered faintly enough that only Shepard's enhanced hearing -and, likely, whatever electronics Ren had stuffed into his helmet- could pick it up.

Sufficiently chastised, the quarian returned the disk to his vest and went on, "Erm, yes, well, regardless, obviously the majority of krogan military traffic is centered around major population zones, particularly clan compounds that have been broadcasting material classified as 'pro-Wrex' by the CDEM. However, there exists an approximately fifteen-square-kilometer area within one of the equatorial land bridges with an anomalous concentration of highly coordinated activity." Deprived of the visual aid he'd been planning to use, vas Orpheon reached over the tactical map and made a vaguely circular motion encompassing the edge of Tuchanka's larger seas. The recorded aircraft flights there did indeed give Elizabeth the sense of a deliberate search pattern, but then again so did a lot of other places. That _said_ , if any of this nonsense about trapped STG officers and a genophage turned out to be true, she was going to have some very unflattering remarks for the Council and Alliance operatives who were _supposed_ to keep her up-to-date on things like this.

"So, what?" Garrus looked from her to Argovigian to the map and back again. "We search overland? The krogan outnumber us a hundred to one and I don't think we can get them onboard with this mission."

" _Certainly_ not." Siriacus Rillek spoke up. Apparently the asari _did_ in fact know English, although with a Turii accent far more pronounced than her father's. "We've already gotten an agent groundside who's made contact with the STG officers; we simply can't yet predict how difficult it will be to get the lot of them back safely."

Garrus's mandibles flicked outward in surprise. "You sent a turian onto Tuchanka _alone_?"

"You got the STG guys to make contact with a _krogan_?" Shepard asked near-simultaneously.

Teron shot both of them in turn a rather odd look. " _Actually_ , we hired a human infiltrator to handle it. I think she used to run with you on the _Normandy_ for a while, in fact. Kasumi Goto?"

"Hm." Garrus pushed his upper body forward in a turian shrug. "And I can only assume she's _also_ here to swipe the genophage from the salarians?"

"Huh! Guess they _didn't_ put you through Academy just 'cause of your looks," Teron scoffed.

Vas Orpheon continued on, seemingly oblivious. "Once the salarians' location was identified, Miss Goto was instructed to seek out any remaining elements loyal to Urdnot Wrex and set up a temporary base of operations. She's signaled us that she's done so, and now we're able to proceed."

"That's it? She can't just give us the location and get clear?" Shepard asked.

The quarian seemed about to answer when Rijus Ta'nin spoke up. "She had to signal us by rearranging the rocks in a streambed where she knew it would make it into the orbital images. We can't risk standard communications because we're worried the most aggressive antiphage activists have gotten people onto the CDEM stations and might alert the krogan. It's a mess."

"Damn." Shepard looked back over the tactical map, suddenly aware of just how _dense_ the krogan fighting was… and the Blackwatch intel wasn't exactly encouraging. Assuming any of it was even _true_ , which Garrus seemed to doubt. Finally she came to a decision, and looked to each of the newcomers in turn. "I think it'd be best if we kept a light footprint. I hope you like it here on the _Normandy_ , because I'm just going down there with Args."

Beside her, Vakarian nodded his assent. "I agree. Fewer warm bodies to track." _And fewer Blackwatch operatives in a very delicate situation_ was left unsaid.

Siriacus sat up a little straighter. "Sir, at _least_ bring me along to scout ahead, Captain Argovigian isn't trained in cloaking techno-"

Adrian Sevarra raised one hand off the table, "Hey, what am _I_ , spoiled-"

Din Pollius looked at them both and shook his head. " _Siriacus_..."

Teron's mandibles clamped back against her jaw. "Din's right. This is Shepard's call to make. If she wants to go in light, we'll go in light. Not a lot we can do about it."

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, En Route To Tuchanka_   
_07:19, 30 January 2185 ASC_

"Garrus, is there something going _on_ between you and Teron that I need to be worried about?"

"I'd be a liar if I told you 'no'. She and I go all the way back to our first real deployment; I'm _used_ to thinking I can trust her with my life. But if it comes to blows… _you_ can trust me not to hesitate."

She sighed. "Garrus, _that_ 's exactly what I'm worried about. You've been watching those Blackwatch guys like a hawk the whole time they've been onboard. I get that you don't _like_ Blackwatch, and you don't _trust_ them, but… we're going into a pretty delicate situation here and I need you focused on what's in front of you, not trying to figure out if you need to shoot your best friend."

"I'm not saying we shouldn't look around. I'm saying we shouldn't have Rillek's Blackwatch goons breathing down our humps when we do it."

"Don't worry. If this turns out to be another false flag, he's gonna get _hurt_ when it's over. We go in, we figure out if this other genophage exists and how it works, and then we _and_ Blackwatch get right back out without breaking anything. All Rillek gets is what we get- classified data that probably needs to be exposed sooner rather than later anyway."

"You know he's just going to twist it to his own ends."

"Maybe. But from what I've seen so far... a lot of his ends are ours."

"That's a dangerous assumption to make. I don't think Rillek's telling us the full story. _If_ there's genophage data on Tuchanka, and not something else entirely that he wants for _entirely_ different reasons, the Spirits only know what he'll wind up doing with it. And I'm not comfortable being a part of that."

"Garrus, you know that I respect the hell out of you as a man _and_ an officer. You don't want us on Tuchanka and I understand why. If you're that dead-set against it... I need someone to keep the _Normandy_ running in orbit and keep watch over the troops we're leaving behind, so I won't order you to come along. Assuming we even go."

"Is there really any possibility we won't?"

"I don't know." She did some quick mental calculations. "There's a call I'd like to make, but it's going to be a while before local day, so... I guess you've got until then to talk me out of it."

"Actually, I was going to go take a shower." He stopped midway between her office and the cabin's bathroom section, twisting his head back around a hundred and twenty degrees in that bizarre turian way that Elizabeth had always found strangely endearing. "Be nice if you'd join me."

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, En Route To Tuchanka  
07:45, 30 January 2185 ASC_

The hospital staff on Sur'kesh connected her without even needing to ask who she wanted to see.

Professor Mordin Solus looked half-dead already, his reddish skin pale and unnaturally dry, ligaments stretched taught over the sharp curves of his skull, but even over the comm feed his eyes still sparkled with the same quick, almost manic intelligence she remembered so well. "Commander Shepard! Always a pleasure!" He tried to lever himself up into a full sitting position, grimacing with the effort it took, and finally gave up trying. That wasn't a good sign. The last time she had checked on him, he'd at least been capable of supporting his own rapidly-decreasing weight. But then, that had been back before the operation on Janus. Had it really been less than a month?

"Mordin? Are... are you OK?"

His expression immediately snapped back to the same neutral, pleasant look that always made it clear he knew a lot of things the rest of the galaxy didn't. "Of course, of course. Simply feeling my age." He paused. "Detecting more agitation than can be explained by simple concern for an old friend. Something... _important_ bothering you."

She never _could_ keep anything from the doctor, not that there was much point in trying. "Look, I don't want to drag you back to... well, to your STG days, but something's come up again on Tuchanka."

"Stranded research team, yes, I know." He seemed to have been expecting her shocked expression and continued with nary a pause, "Bedridden does not mean _helpless_ , you know. You intend to recover them? A noble effort." He gave a single, rasping laugh. "Unlikely to succeed, but... noble, nonetheless. Certainly recovery of remains with minimal signs of predation will please surviving family members."

"Mordin, it's more than that." Elizabeth absentmindedly smoothed back a few strands of still-damp hair. "I need you to tell me whether or not there are genophage variants prepared for any other intelligent race."

"Not able or willing to answer definitively. Still possess... certain obligations to old colleagues. _However_." Mordin paused for a moment, alarmingly short of breath. Then he reached up to adjust the multisensor strap affixed to the side of his neck and continued. "Official position of Special Tasks Group has always been to _categorically_ deny existence of genophage weapons targeting _any_ species other than krogan." He laughed again, wincing slightly in pain. "Should be able to figure out the rest for yourself."

"And I could deal with... that. I know it wouldn't be easy, but if I had to I could figure out what to do with a human genophage- turn it over to Cerberus, bury it, something else entirely. I've done it before. But I'm not just after the human version any more. There's this _turian_ outfit that's also looking for-"

"By 'turians' you mean 'Gul Rillek and Blackwatch'." It wasn't a question.

"… yeah." Elizabeth finished, somewhat lamely.

"Intelligence community a surprisingly tiny place. Easy to remember… _large_ personalities. Not surprised to see interest in genophage- propaganda potential if exposed would be massive."

"You don't sound very worried."

"Understand Blackwatch thought process... better than most. Rillek will not act recklessly with sensitive information. Political instability results in loss of turian lives; runs counter to almost obsessive interest in turian survival."

"So you're saying I shouldn't worry about it?"

"Quite the opposite. Blackwatch in general and top lieutenants in particular are capable of great ruthlessness in pursuit of goals. Nearly as many STG colleagues lost as saved, in fact. Nonetheless, others exist who would be less trustworthy with incriminating information, _especially_ given current state of krogan."

"Wait, quite the _opposite_? Are you saying I _should_ worry about them in general but not here? Or that because Rillek is at the top and _he_ 's trustworthy?"

Mordin's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes."

Shepard tried and failed to fight back a smile. "Do you really have _nothing_ better to do with your time than play word games?"

"No, as a matter of fact I do not. However, _do_ have confidence in Blackwatch's ability to recognize delicate situation, carry out operation accordingly. And above all, have complete confidence in _you_."

"You have _no_ idea how happy I am to hear that, Mordin. When I get back I'll tell you everything.

"Doubt I'll have that long. Nonetheless, appreciated."

"Mordin, _don't say that_ -"

"No need for your concern. Lived a full life. Have come to terms with position on the Wheel. Hold no regrets; able to leave fate of galaxy in... capable hands."

Shepard had to take a moment before she felt ready to speak again. "Goodbye, Mordin."

"Goodbye, Elizabeth." He tapped a panel on the side of his bed, and the screen faded to black.

Shepard spent the next few minutes sitting quietly at her desk, staring at nothing. Then she pulled up a direct communications link to the bridge.

"Orders, Commander?" Garrus's voice was clipped and nearly emotionless- outside of her cabin he'd always maintained the tone of a model officer, of course, but right now Elizabeth suspected there was quite a bit more to it than simple professionalism.

"It's decided." She sighed, and rolled a kink out of her shoulders. "Have Joker take us through the Relay, we're headed for Tuchanka."

* * *

_Provisional Command Center of the Turian Hierarchy, Cipritine, Palaven  
02:15 (11:02 Local Time), 11 March 382 ASC_

It wasn't the personal meeting with the Primarch of the Hierarchy that had San Hadrian nervous- in fact as chief scientist and later, more formally, Academician-General, his position on the nascent High Command made the legendary Rav Valekian a fairly regular acquaintance. These, however, were far from regular circumstances.

"Hadrian. Qui'in." Valekian strode across the spare, cement-walled room that served as his personal office and regarded first the scientist and then General Gav Qui'in beside him. "What do you have for me?"

"Nothing good," Hardian answered, and walked forward to meet the Primarch. At Valekian's nodded invitation, he and Qui'in took two cushions surrounding the small mock-firepit that had been set up in one corner- the only remotely old-fashioned or even particularly _comfortable_ element the former supply officer allowed in his inner sanctum. "Have you ever heard of a place called 'White Mesa'?"

"Can't say I have."

"It's a complex in the Limestone Desert. The Liheirax Confederacy set it up as a propulsion laboratory back when they still had interest in a space program." _And back when they still existed as anything other than a collection of_ _disorganized militia_ he left unsaid. Nonetheless, he was aware that beside him General Qui'in's mandibles had pulled a tiny bit inwards. If he recalled correctly the stout, gray-plated woman's clan had _fled_ Liheirax territory just before things had come apart completely, and in fact it was that experience that had driven her to fight so fiercely against the militias that had sprung up in the Confederacy's place and eventually secured for her command over all Hierarchy special operations and deep-reconnaissance forces.

Nonetheless, she continued on with her usual slick, disciplined professionalism, extracting an aerial map of the desert from the pouch slung under her right arm and pointing out the research base's location. "We've known for a while that the Elapri have been operating out of it, but given how deep the site is in their territory and the large number of other potential rally points in the area we haven't considered taking serious action against it."

"I would _presume_ that's going to change?" Valekian muttered.

"You'd be correct." Hadrian reached for his own satchel and withdraw a sheaf of photographic prints, spreading them out over the granite rim of the firepit. He considered it to Valekian's immense credit that the Primarch didn't show any outward reaction to the contents.

"Patrol spotted him wandering around in the desert five days ago," Qui'in continued, "Gave a Hierarchy identification code for a shipping convoy that had been hit by Elapri renegades sixty-three days ago. Dental X-rays matched one of the drivers- more or less."

"Did he tell us anything about how he got those cuts?" Valekian asked.

" _Incisions_ , technically. And no, he… spent most of his time illucid. Now he's dead. There wasn't a lot our medics could do."

"The patient was suffering from dehydration and heatstroke," Hadrian continued, "and the surgical procedures he underwent certainly didn't contribute to his health. But ultimately what killed him was long-term radiation exposure. As near as the medics were able to determine, White Mesa is experimenting on turians and using slave labor to _build_ something. That's when General Qui'in contacted me. I'm not yet able to determine what the Elapri might be _doing_ down there – she was initially concerned they may have been developing biological weapons, but that wouldn't explain the radiation exposure we are seeing… or the transmissions."

"Transmissions?" Gav looked at him quizically, and Hadrian realized that the General had likely not had a chance to review the information he'd couriered over only that morning.

Hadrian extracted a small magtape player from the same satchel that had held his photographs and switched it on. The recording began with a series of electronic chirps separated by longer pauses- two, three, five, seven, eleven, and thirteen to a set- followed by a low, deep, horn-like sound that wasn't immediately identifiable as a machine or something alive. Both Qui'in and Valekian gripped the cushions they were sitting on a little harder and looked around nervously. Quickly, Hadrian switched the player off before the transmission could continue. He had heard that odd, hollow droning five or six times by now, and while he considered himself as rational and worldly as a turian could become he was still powerless to explain the nameless, instinctual dread it inspired in him. "We thought they were an attempt to jam our satellites at first, and the Elapri engineers just underestimated the durability of our own electronics. But after hearing what the General had to tell me I ordered the radio observatory at Red Coast to try to triangulate them. They have nothing to do with the location of any of our satellites- White Mesa is beaming them out into deep space."

Silence hung heavily in the office for a few long moments. Then Valekian carefully collected the photographs in a neat stack and handed them back to his science adviser. "We need to shut this project down before it reaches completion and I'd… prefer those transmissions were stopped as well, but recovering any captives from the facility also needs to be a priority. They could have information on what was being done there that we may desperately need. Thus, a nuclear or conventional missile strike is out of the question. It's going to be a groundgame from here on out."

"It's not that simple," Hadrian continued, "White Mesa is built into a natural cave system that runs deep into the crust. There's no guarantee that a surface strike would do more than superficial damage. We would have to bring a warhead or multiple warheads deep _inside_ the complex."

Gav nodded her assent. "It's going to be a groundgame either way."

"Spirits preserve us all," the Primarch murmured.

* * *

* * *

 

**Author's Notes:**

I was worried about coming down a little too hard on David Anderson here, but Archangel1207 has made some persuasive arguments otherwise and playing back through ME1 after a long time away I'm seeing some pretty heavy Earth-First and anti-turian subtexts in his canonical dialogue. I wouldn't say that my interpretation of the character is the _only_ valid one- not by a long shot, in fact- but I am no longer particularly worried that I am completely contradicting an established personality. It's not like I'm making him an alien-hating nutcase on the level of ME3's Cerberus or anything like that; he's just a career soldier suddenly tossed into an extremely high political position with little idea of what to do there other than the training and misguided indoctrination he received as an officer in the early days of the Alliance. He claims as part of recording his memoirs in ME3 that he was grateful to work with a turian officer in early cooperative wargames, but not only is everything from ME3 non-canon to PD unless otherwise stated, but it seems like such a quick, public-facing denial that in context it actually makes him seem _more_ likely to secretly be a straight-up racist –"some of my _best friends_ are turians!"– and that is completely the opposite of what I wanted.

* * *

The question of how asari age and develop is not something I expect to spend a _great_ deal of time focusing on, but most of the Mass Effect fan community seems to think that their childhood is proportionally as long as the rest of their lifespan- that they spend years as infants and decades as children. That always seemed _immensely weird_ and logistically unworkable to me and I think it's a lot more likely that the species starts developing roughly as fast as humans and only towards the end of adolescence begins to gradually slow down, entering the "maiden" stage proper in their mid 20s to 30s. I could graph this relationship out if for some reason I needed to use it a lot, but for our purposes I think it just matters that this would make Siriacus Rillek, currently chronologically 27 Earth years old, about the same biological age as a 22- or 23-year-old human, while the difference was negligible when she was 16 and signed on for the Turian Auxiliaries.


	16. Codex: The Water Wars

Over the course of the fourth century ASC, rapid turian industrialization began to degrade Palaven's climate and ecosystem; by the 360s even the machine- and chemical-intensive agriculture of the Elapri 'superclans' proved unable to keep pace with the increasing scarcity of water and viable ranchland. A prolonged series of individually tiny conflicts over resources and territory between the hundreds of superclans and theocratic-democratic nations that comprised the turian political landscape at the time would later come to be referred to as the Water Wars.

It was within this environment that the early Turian Hierarchy emerged in late 368 ASC, following a coordinated simultaneous military coup within the three superclans vying for control of what is now the city of Cipritine. After a period of internal consolidation ending in 371, the Hierarchy began pursuing aggressively expansionist campaigns against the superclans to claim resources which Primarch of the Hierarchy Rav Valekian believed were being wasted on local infighting, and in particular to prevent the deployment of early nuclear weapons in the conflict by the numerous groups that already possessed such or were actively pursuing their development.

Historians disagree on the most appropriate end-date for the Water Wars period. The majority opinion favors 395 ASC when the last of the Elapri Partisan cells surrendered and armed conflict ceased with the Turian Hierarchy in complete control of Palaven and a small temporary outpost on Menae, although the strict rationing and population-control measures instituted by the Hierarchy were only gradually relaxed in the following years and finally repealed entirely in 401 ASC. A minority of scholars continue the 'Water Wars' designation up to the discovery of Element Zero in 423 ASC although majority opinion considers the peaceful and economically prosperous period beginning in the late 390s to be an entirely distinct era.

The early Hierarchy kept extensive computer and physical records which have been maintained into the modern era; as a result the Water Wars are recognized as one of the best-understood historical periods of any pre-spaceflight culture (compare, for instance, the deliberate corruption of salarian historical documents by the League of One or the near-total collapse of Earth's planetary computer network during the Big Data Crisis). While the outlook of the turian population at large is known to have been bleak- many apparently believed the extinction of the species to be a real possibility- modern perspectives recognize the era as a time of intensive technological and social development. Many technologies which had previously existed only theoretically or in a very rudimentary form -including controlled nuclear fission, electronic computers, rocket-propelled spaceflight, and genetic engineering- were refined and put into common use by the Hierarchy or its opponents for both civil and military applications; the early Hierarchy were also the first to implement cultural institutions such as universal civil service and tiered social ranking, and encouraged the already prevailing shift away from communal creches and towards single family cells.

* * *

* * *

 

**Author's Note:** The extension of galactic history over thousands of years with seemingly minimal technological and social change always stuck me as immensely odd in the canonical Mass Effect games. Most of the fandom seems to think that the aliens are all just naturally slower at developing because... they're just _dumb_ or something, I guess, which for obvious reasons I found more than a little HFY-y.

I think it's much more likely that all the alien civilizations, being _not_ dumb, progressed at a rate more or less similar to humanity's through their early development and then just slowed way down when they hit the mass-relay era. This would mean that all the "modern" parts of alien history before interstellar colonization (everything from steam power, to splitting the atom, to computers, to element zero) would be happening over just one or two centuries, and I wrote the background on the WW with that in mind.

Why would this happen? Some of the more literate fanthors I've happened across have proposed that this is just the natural path technological progress takes in the Mass Effect universe, but I think a more likely explanation is the Reapers (or, probably more accurately, the Collectors since only one or two true Reapers stayed active between cycles). The enemy wanted as many spacefaring civilizations as possible to "harvest", but once species started spreading out and colonizing they didn't want the organics gaining any _more_ technology because that would just make them harder to conquer. So once a species reaches the level of technology where they can properly use the Mass Relays, the Reapers clandestinely interfere with their basic scientific research (I am imagining something like the "sophon lock" from Cixin Liu's books, just using whatever bizarre signal is responsible for Indoctrination) and slow technological progress to a crawl in a way that the organics (lacking a clear comparison of what they _would_ be doing otherwise) can't easily question.

This would mean that with the Reapers gone the galaxy will suddenly start to accelerate technologically once again, but _PD_ is on too short of a timescale for that to really come into play.

* * *

I don't know why the early development of the turians is such an interesting topic for turiocentric writers to pursue, but it seems to have almost universal appeal- I really enjoyed writing this, and also reading CT's bit on the Strife of Palaven (from which I obviously took some inspiration) and really wish I'd seen others. Maybe it's just that the canonical sources kind of skip over _everyone's_ historical and technological development pre-spaceflight?


	17. Codex: The Hastatim Corps

The Hastatim Corps (Turii: " _Sa_ _r_ _xa Zoa'us_ ", lit. "Sorting Corps" or "Decision Corps") are a division of the Turian Army specializing in combat operations in areas with a large civilian presence. Turian military doctrine allows for military action against what would be considered under Citadel law civilian targets on the grounds that non-soldiers are presumed to still provide logistical and material support for enemy operations and may potentially organize armed resistance following the expulsion of regular military forces from an area; following directly behind regular Turian Army assault units, the Hastatim Corps is responsible for conducting exhaustive searches of heavily populated areas to eliminate remaining regular troops and potential irregular troops as well as ensuring that genuine noncombatants are able to safely reach designated secure areas.

Although commonly referred to as 'execution squads' throughout Citadel Space, the Turian Hierarchy maintains that the Hastatim Corps are judicious and precise in their use of lethal force, citing the Corps' stringent psychological screening process and training not only in conventional military operations but also first aid, de-escalation and negotiation tactics, coordination with local opposition elements, and the operation of a variety of non-lethal weapons systems. Indeed, another important function of the group is to eliminate conventional enemy troops deeply embedded within _friendly_ population centers, and former Hastatim are highly sought-after by C-SEC and other Citadel-space security forces that respond to hostage situations, spree shootings, and slaver activity.

The Hastatim Corps is an exclusive all-volunteer unit that recruits primarily from Recon and veteran Turian Army regulars; nonetheless casualty rates are on average 25% higher than other front-line turian infantry units due to the Corps' strict rules of engagement and limited acces access to intelligence, man-portable heavy weapons, or AAO ("Artillery, Air, or Orbital") support; the average duration of service is only 5 years and the majority of Hastatim retire due to psychological 'burnout'.

The Hastatim Corps was officially established during the Turian Unifcation Wars around the modern and systematic description provided in Tabusca's _Hierarchy;_ however the concept dates back at least as far as the Fourth Cycle 'Harmony' myths featuring the heroine Tokka Lorthus, where the term is used towards the end of Saga 2:13 to describe a cadre of soldiers employed to hunt and eliminate demonic entities ( _'_ _O_ _kees_ _ol_ _us_ ', lit. 'changelings') that had replaced some of the inhabitants of the city of Sakkirren. The Corps subsequently saw extremely heavy fighting and significant expansion during the latter half of the Krogan Rebellions, and has participated on a smaller scale in the First Contact War and a number of Council-Terminus peacekeeping operations including the Skyllian Blitz. The Corps also mobilized and launched a major recruiting initiative in preparation for a proposed Council intervention into the Morning War, although ultimately no military forces were ever deployed to the Perseus Veil.

* * *

* * *

**Author's Note:**

While I still _technically_ won't be graduating until May, the thesis I was working on is for all intents and purposes _done_ and I've been making very good headway on all of the various other things that have piled up in the meantime. In particular, as of writing this the _next_ chapter of _Palaven's Dogs_ is actually very nearly done- I'm not going to come right out and say that there will be another update in a week or two, but I'm not ruling the possibility out either.


	18. Silent Running

**Silent Running**

 

“ _The surviving races will frighten their children with tales of what we did to the turians! The asari will scream as we send the citadel crashing into the sun! We will keep the salarians as slaves, and eat their eggs as a delicacy!”_

-Clanspeaker Weyrlock Guld

* * *

_A. S. V. Normandy-II, En Route To Tuchanka  
11:51, 30 January 2185 ASC_

Somewhat ironically, Shepard would be getting onto Tuchanka the same way she had tried to infiltrate the Blackwatch compound on Palaven- slipping into the system under slow FTL to bypass the Relay, and dropping her and Captain Argovigian from orbit. The first few hours of the flight were blessedly quiet, and despite the continued presence of Gul Rillek’s commando squad on the far corner of the bridge- Garrus refused to let them out of his direct sight for any length of time, but neither did he want them able to surreptitiously poke around at anything sensitive- the _Normandy_ ’s XO dared to hope that at least the infiltration stage of their mission might actually run smoothly for a change.

It was, of course, when he was just beginning to relax that Joker paged him from the cockpit. “Uhh, sir, we’ve got some kind of a…  _situation_ over near the Mass Relay.”

Casting one last  wary glance back at Rillek’s outfit,  Garrus called up a holographic representation of the surrounding space on the primary chart table. He typically went up to the bow to  observe situations unfold through the viewports, but he didn’t want to get too far away from the soldiers he was trying to keep watch over.  He idly considered that General Rillek would probably have been pleased to see his men forcing the executive officer of a Cerberus ship to adopt a command style more common in the Turian Navy.

Joker’s “situation” proved to be a standoff between a salarian-model bulk freighter and a turian patrol cutter painted in CDEM colors holding station between it and the Relay. The freighter was decorated in red and white striping identical to a Citadel medical transport- which, Garrus noted, didn’t _technically_ count as criminal impersonation of such a vessel since the right to skip security checks and request priority docking slips was verified by transponder and not by paint color. He wondered, however, just how quickly  that arrangement would a forged set of identity to be swapped in as needed and then made to disappear whenever the authorities came looking.

Both ships just hung there, nose to nose, about a kilometer apart, as the  _Normandy’s_ comm intercept station began picking up chatter between them. Neither the flanged male voice that presumably emanated from the cutter nor what was either an asari or a female human on the mock medical ship sounded  particularly happy, and more than once Garrus caught the Standard Thessian legal terms for “humanitarian aid vessel” and “right to refuse boarders”. He rubbed the joints of his mandibles and sighed. Conversations exactly like this had been an almost daily occurrence back when he’d been a rookie patrolman working Customs & Excise on the Citadel, and they never ended well. “Joker, bring us down to dead slow until these two are done,”  he muttered into the intercom pickup, “They’re close enough I’m worried the cutter might spot our delta-M bubble if it starts  intensive scans.”

“Aye, sir, but it looks like these two are gonna be at it a while.  Might want to head down to the galley and grab a soda or something. ”

As if to defy Joker’s prediction, the intercepted comm traffic suddenly got a lot louder, faster, and more acrimonious, and then the freighter abruptly started to accelerate. Briefly Garrus feared it might be trying to  _ram_ the turian cutter- ever since Janus he’d worried that Blackwatch had let the  genie out of the bag  (that was the human expression, right?) by showing every psycho and two-bit  gunrunner in the Terminus Systems that such a maneuver was possible  with a live demonstration splashed all over the Extranet news .  The turian captain evidently had the same concern as his cutter opened fire and started to pull hard to port,  but the kinetic rounds splattered against what very much appeared to be military-grade shields. Then, miraculously, the fake hospital ship changed course slightly and passed less than a hundred meters  _above_ the turians,  gunning for the Relay acceleration field. On second thought, perhaps the well-publicized and extremely bloody fate that had befallen the crew of the  _Storm King IV_ had been of some help in deterring copycats after all. Garrus’s line of reasoning stopped just short of giving credit to Rillek for planning that from the start.

The ersatz hospital ship was fast but the turians were faster, coming around and targeting the engines with their heavy front cannons.  Still a hundred meters out from the departure zone their target’s shields crackled out of existance and they began to lose velocity as their mass-effect field faded away.  T he cutter began moving cautiously forward- then quite suddenly the hospital ship was consumed in a round blue fireball.

The communications they were intercepting suddenly became much clearer, and therefore the signals carrying them more powerful- probably being sent all the way back to one of the CDEM monitor stations. “ Shatha-Four, this is Command. We just picked up a major Delta-M surge, do you mind telling us what happened?” a salarian asked.

“I don’t understand it,” the turian commander replied, “we disabled a  freighter with military- grade defenses gunning for the Relay and… it just exploded. They must’ve spiked their own engine core-”.

“Shatha-Four, those had to have been activists; professional smugglers would never have made a scene like that. Are you  _positive_ your gunner was shooting to disable?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Hmm. Continue your patrol, but we’ll be downloading your bow camera remotely. I expect a full end-of-cycle report when you dock.”

“Understood.” The  cutter  drifted off away from the Relay, and Joker slowly brought the  _Normandy_ ’s  engines back up to full speed.

Had he been a superstitious man, Garrus would have considered the entire affair an ill omen.

Quite unexpectedly, Siriacus Rillek spoke up from where she was standing at what looked an awful lot like Turian Army parade rest against the aft bulkhead. “Do you think there’s any risk of the CDEM increasing security? That may pose _difficulties_ for our exit.”

“Maybe… but it shouldn’t be a problem for us.” Teron replied, “A few Navy cutters on the friendly side of the relay is gonna be a lot better than anything chasing us on our way out. I… should probably go ahead and get my gear ready,” she started walking towards the lift, then stopped and flicked a mandible in Garrus’s direction, “What, no pair a’ armed guards to make sure I don’t steal the ship on my way down? You’re slipping up in your old age, Academy Boy.”

* * *

_Ketta Rift Valley, Tuchanka  
12:04 (22:16 Local Time), 30 January 2185 ASC_

Compared to  the  self-imposed thrashing Shepard had taken on Palaven,  landing on Tuchanka almost felt  _ comfortable _ . Given the generally messy conditions of Tuchanka’s lower orbital space and the  substandard quality of both the groundside and CDEM sensor equipment, there hadn’t been any need to skimp on power to the descent rigs- a good thing, too, since Teron Argovigian wasn’t quite as physiologically well-equipped to handle  prolonged G-forces as even an unaugmented human would have been. Now that they were on the ground, however, Elizabeth could count on the omnipresent low-hanging dust clouds to shield them from all but the lowest-flying aerial patrols. She supposed q uestions about where and how the krogan -presumably Wreav’s followers- had even  _ gotten _ this many armed military aircraft and trained pilots to fly them could wait for another day.

S he'd paid close attention to the direction Teron had been heading during their descent, so even with IFFs disabled to avoid detection it took Shepard less than five minutes to meet up with the Recon scout. As soon as she was in visual range, Elizabeth loped over and pressed her helmet against the turian’s: “Args? You good?”

“ _Fuck_ yeah! I wanna do that _again_!”

“Good... good luck with that.” Sometimes it was difficult to remember that Teron was a decorated combat officer over a decade Elizabeth’s senior. In fact, cross-referencing against the stories Garrus had been able to impart, she didn’t seem to have appreciably  _ changed _ since her time in compulsory service.

Shaking her head, Shepard tapped a few commands into the ghost of her omnitool’s interface and called up the relevant sections of CDEM aerial photography. “There's a gully about fifty meters southeast of here, looks like it connects right to the rendezvous point. I'll take the lead.”

“ Understood .”

Despite the uneven, rocky terrain they made extremely good time, stopping only twice to take cover against the gully walls as what sounded an awful lot like a pair of merc-model A-41 patrol craft whirred by overhead, counting on their armor to hide any stray thermal signatures. After less than an hour of solid trekking, the gully intersected with a broader canyon that carved through several layers of the region's weathered black rock. No sooner had they stepped out into the main wash than a slim, humanoid figure with a distinctive hood materialized from behind a particularly large outcropping on the far side of the wall and half-jumped-half-slid the rest of the way to their level.

“Shepard. Args. You made it,” Kasumi whispered as soon as she was close enough to be heard without speaking up. “I was starting to get  _ bored _ out here.”

Shepard was about to step forward when Teron beat her to it and clamped a hand on the other human’s shoulder. “Goto. Good to see you again.”

The Commander blinked. “Wait-  _ again _ ?”

“This isn’t my first job for Gul Rillek, you know,” Goto continued as if Elizabeth had just said something blindingly stupid. “The old guy has a…  _ thing _ about  keeping turian art and artifacts in ‘honorable’ hands.”

Teron nodded. “This isn’t even our first time on Tuchanka together. For all the noise the krogan’re making about returning their shit from before the Rebellions, they don’t seem to have any problem letting all the shit _our_ ancestors  left behind turn to rust.”

“He buys human antiques, too, you know-  mostly  old Soviet stuff. Kinda  _ strange _ , actually, but he pays  good .”

Shepard just looked back and forth between them, incredulous. “And  _ when _ were you going to tell me about this?”

“ Any time, really. Giving a Council Spectre detailed information on all the rich  crazy people I’ve ever run a job for sounds  _ great _ for my career prospects. And my prospects for staying alive.”

“… Right.” Elizabeth supposed she should have been expecting that. Even in a galaxy of  two hundred billion people Kasumi Goto had a rather…  _ unique _ skillset, and that was bound to put her in pretty high demand. It didn’t stop Shepard from wondering who  _ else _ among the officers and politicians she interacted with on a regular basis might have employed the thief’s services,  though .

Sensing the sudden tension between the two humans, Teron spoke up again. “How the fuck did you even get _down_ here, Goto? The CDEM would’ a logged any private ships landing in this sector.”

“Actually it was pretty easy.  Those ‘relief’ ships’ll smuggle anyone or anything dirtside for a couple of credits. I dropped out the back of one heading to Gatatog Hold once we hit atmosphere and then stowed away on a ground caravan coming from-” She stopped suddenly as the whirring of engines once again became audible from off to the west. Shepard and Argovigian scrambled back up against the rock face while their contact simply melted back into invisibility.  “We… probably shouldn’t be doing this out here,” Kasumi finished once the gunship had passed overhead.

Wordlessly, the Commander and Argovigian followed her to a section of camouflage netting draped over the rock face and, at her nod, pulled it aside. The camp wasn't much to look at- a quarter-spherical natural cavern extending perhaps forty meters into the canyon wall, filled with a dozen-odd bunks, a few stand-alone communications terminals, crates of miscellaneous supplies, and precious little else.  Oddly, it looked to be set up for the use of more than just a single human, and the reason why quickly became obvious when Shepard stepped further inside and spotted two krogan in  black-and-white armor sitting on opposite sides of a portable stove tucked back in the shadows of one corner.

One of them had his back to her, but she recognized the other immediately as soon as she caught sight of his orange skin and freakishly overdeveloped headcrest- “ _Urdnot_ _Grunt_!”. She unsealed her helmet, clipped it onto her equipment pack, and abruptly slammed one fist into the krogan's chest. He staggered backwards, laughing, but responded in kind, seemingly surprised to see the human woman shrug off a blow that would have left most creatures with more than a few cracked ribs.

“ _Shepard_!” He took another swing and deliberately missed. Elizabeth made a show of dodging just the same.

“Who’s your pal?”

The other krogan seemed to become aware of her presence for the first time and turned around, revealing a moss-green skullplate and skin traced by dozens of deep, old scars.

“Gnalish _Okeer_?” Shepard had to admit that he looked pretty good for a dead man, although that wasn’t exactly saying much- the renegade scientist seemed somehow _diminished_ since her team had left him -left his body?- on Kortus, his posture hunched over and his eyes slightly unfocused. He just _stared_ at her blankly for a good few seconds, mumbling something under his breath in a language Shepard couldn’t recognize.

“Doctor,” Grunt finally prompted, “This is Commander Shepard.”

“Oh. Yes. Right.” Okeer seemed to focus on her for the first time and the disturbing lopsidedness of his gaze abated somewhat, but he still gave no sign of recognition. “You’ll have to forgive me, my memory’s… not what it used to be.”

“I’m surprised you’re even _alive_.”

“Me too, sometimes. I just… _woke up_ on an abandoned ship in the middle of a scrapyard one day, surrounded by mercs. I didn’t even know who I was or how I’d got there at first, but I figured it’d be a bad idea to stick around. Found the ship the mercs used to get there and headed deeper into the Terminus. Things’ve been coming back to me slowly but surely ever since- the grunt over there’s been a big help, actually.”

“Oh.” It was rare but not unheard of for krogan to regenerate from clinical death over the course of hours or days if returned to a safe environment. The documented incidents Shepard had been instructed in over the course of N-7 training had all occurred following hypoxia or concussive head trauma, but while she was no medic the Commander figured Okeer must have retained enough lung capacity despite the chlorine gas he’d inhaled to keep at least some parts of his system alive on a cellular level and slowly repairing the damage to the rest. It was shaping up to be a very informative day all around. “Look, if I’d had _any_ idea you were still alive I’ve gone back for you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage. Figured I’d come back home to try to sort myself out, but…” seeming to regain some of his old vigor, the scientist waved theatrically to the ravine outside. “It seems _home_ is a bigger shitshow than I am at the moment.”

To Elizabeth’s surprise, Grunt turned and cuffed the older krogan across the jaw. “Don’t _say_ that about Tuchanka,” he snarled.

After a few more moments of strained silence Teron lightly tapped the Commander’s shoulder and motioned for her to step back. “I’m glad you got to meet another friend of yours, but this wasn’t part of our plan,” she muttered.

“If you’re worried I’ve got eyes on your genophage data, don’t be.” Okeer cut in from behind them. “I don’t want it. I just want the Blood Pack and that idiot Wreav to get their hands on it even less.”

Kasumi and Argovigian both adopted carefully neutral expressions, apparently unwilling to confirm what might’ve just been a wild guess.

“Genophage nonsense is all over Wreav’s battlenet,” Okeer explained, and then shrugged. “It wasn’t too hard to fill in the gaps.”

“Hmm.” Argovigian didn’t seem convinced. “You wanted a light footprint on this operation, and I know you and that kid go back a ways but I don’t trust ‘em. I figure they’d best stay behind.”

“Hey, in case you didn’t notice, we’re kind of outgunned here,” Goto cut in, “If we run into one of those patrols we’ll need all the help we can get. Besides, they already kept me clear of the Blood Pack raid that went down just after I landed.” She waved a gloved hand towards the rear of the cavern. “If it wasn’t for them, I’d’ve ended up with those poor guys in the back.”

Curious, Elizabeth stepped back towards the rear of the encampment, only to find herself looking at a neat row of ten red plastic body bags that had been laid out behind a set of weapons crates. Cautiously she pulled back a corner, grimacing at the smell of the disinfectant the bags came pre-saturated with, and came face-to-face with the bloodied remains of another krogan. He was young- barely halfway through adolescence, she figured- and dressed in the drab, gray-green canvas uniform favored by Urdnot Wrex's partisans; most of his left shoulder and portions of his skull had been torn away by gunfire, leaving the uniform smeared yellow-orange with blood.

“Wreav and his allies’ve been doing a real number on anyone who’s stupid enough to challenge the old way of doing things,” Okeer continued, “I figure it’s only a matter of time at this point until the only ones left are smart enough to keep their heads down and pretend to go along. Natural selection and all that.”

Behind him, Urdnot Grunt made a vaguely disparaging noise.

“Well?” Teron bobbed her head, mandibles pressed against her jaw, “It’s your call, Commander.”

Shepard stood back up and then paused, thinking the situation over. She knew _Grunt_ well enough, certainly, but while she’d been willing to hire him on during the Collector fiasco she still had mixed feelings about Gnalish Okeer’s methods and ultimate goals- although that had been before he’d spent a few hours critically deprived of oxygen and come back short most of his memory, and the strangely inverted relationship between him and Grunt honestly didn’t worry her as much as the thought of a revived Okeer completely in possession of his original goals and experience would have. Goto was right that she and Args had landed severely underequipped- Elizabeth been expecting the same clan-to-clan squabbling that she’d run into on Tuchanka a dozen times before, not what was looking more and more like a highly organized and well-equipped campaign by Urdnot Wreav to hunt down the STG team and anything else that threatened his coalition. If it was a choice between Grunt and Okeer or the Blackwatch officers she still knew precious little about, she knew what her answer would be- that, and she wasn’t _entirely_ comfortable letting people who knew what the salarians had brought with them out of her direct control for any length of time.

“We’ll bring ‘em along,” she finally said, reaffixing her helmet and making for the cave entrance. “Kasumi, you scout up ahead. Grunt, bring up the rear. I’ll take point.”

* * *

The canyon took them about fourteen kilometers in mostly the right direction before the land around it began to slope downward and its walls finally merged indistinguishably into the rocky scree to either side. By this point the landscape was showing signs of habitation, at least in the distant past- the bombed-out shells of low, industrial concrete-and-sheet-metal buildings were located at times hundreds of meters from each other, but they were still connected by a thin tracery of ancient dirt roads. Aside from the continued aerial patrols there was no sign of any _current_ krogan presence, but Elizabeth kept her team to the underbrush regardless.

They had managed to continue their hike for nearly an hour without any sign of Kasumi’s continued presence- the krogan weren't exactly known for being quiet fighters, so Shepard felt comfortable in taking that as confirmation Goto hadn't encountered anything dangerous. Eventually the buildings packed together into a winding, refuse-choked alleyway that terminated at a series of waist-high concrete barricades topped with an impressive amount of razor wire and crudely painted with a very familiar symbol- the bright red fist of the Blood Pack. As imposing as they were, however, the barricades had clearly been meant to deter casual civilians and not soldiers in full body armor- Shepard and her team had no trouble scaling the concrete section and slipping through the wire above.

On the other side a long, metallic, hangar-like building sprawled at the far end of a field covered in empty shipping containers and miscellaneous metallic scrap. Several of the windows glowed with unsteady flourescent light, and as she drew closer Elizabeth's HUD lit up with a dozen or so red blips.  “ Everybody, hold up. There's something alive in there.”

Shepard motioned for the others to follow a few steps behind her and began moving towards  an open, garage-like door , slipping from one pile of corroded junk to another as quietly as she could manage. The dock seemed to open directly onto  a sort of motor pool or machine shop , the broad concrete expanse broken up with intermittent islands of heavy machinery  and a pneumatic platform about the right size for the wheelbase of a light  _ tomkah _ . A dozen or so vorcha were currently engaged in stripping coils of superconducting wire from one of the machines under the supervision of a pair of rifle-toting  krogan in  mismatched armor . As Shepard watched, one of the vorcha abandoned his work and began growling at the closer overseer. “Velk promised us fresh meat, but there is nothing here worth eating... maybe we don't work any more tonight...” He abruptly quieted when the butt of the overseer's rifle met his jaw.

Shepard leaned back away from the doorframe and  retracted her helmet visor . “Looks like they're just scavengers. Kasumi, see if you can get out onto the factory floor.” She spotted movement in a small metal shack protruding into the far side of the building. “Grunt, Okeer, circle around and try to get in that other shack. Blow a hole in the wall if you have to.  Args , you're with me.” She waited until  the four of them nodded their assent , checking the status of the silencing mod on her submachine gun. “Three... two... one...  _ breach _ !”

The black-armored figure of a human female suddenly materialized behind one of the  krogan , a  pistol in one hand . As the overseer fell to the floor,  a pair of matching holes in his skull , Kasumi ducked back out of the line of fire and let Shepard catch the other with a quick three-shot burst from her position in the doorway. Immediately thereafter two more  vorcha and a krogan came running out from the smaller room, all three firing madly behind them at a charging Grunt. Sniper fire  from Okeer’s position slammed into the  vorcha a second later; at the same time Teron dashed forward and unloaded two rounds from her shotgun into the krogan's right knee. He stumbled forward and the turian immediately slammed one shotgauntleted fist into the soft flesh of his throat, producing a thick spray of yellowish blood. He dropped to the floor, twitched once, and then lay still. Without armor the  rest of the vorcha didn't stand a chance- six fell as they tried to retreat to another interior door on the factory's far side, those that made it were quickly followed by Grunt and Argovigian. There were a few quick bursts of silenced gunfire, then a long pause.

Finally Teron stepped out onto the main floor once more, her shotgun still in her hands and her mandibles twitching oddly in and out. “Commander? You, uhh... might wanna see this.”

Elizabeth made her way over to the scout's location, stepped through the open doorway, and stopped dead. To call what occupied most of the far corner of the room a mass grave would have been absurdly generous; even at its messiest a mass grave still implied recognizable bodies. This was more of a  _ rubbish heap _ , a disorderly agglomeration of bones and offal piled together with only the barest effort put into keeping it contained. Very few of the remains were even recognizable by species- here, a bronze-plated mandible, there a human femur split open to get at the marrow inside. Blood of every color and composition mixed together into a purple-black slurry that split into several trails leading across the unfinished dirt floor to twenty or so large metal enclosures lined up in a haphazard row. It took Shepard a few moments of closer inspection to properly identify them as large animal cages  of the sort typically used to transport livestock , each one with the exterior door-release control repositioned well out of reach and the interior one ripped away entirely. The sheet metal behind them was pocked with high-calibur bullet holes,  leaving little doubt as to what had  initially done them in;  the vorcha, presumably, had handled the rest.

The Commander heard movement behind her and turned to catch a glimpse of Kasumi Goto making a swift exit back onto the  shop floor. She followed, watching from a safe distance as the thief unbuckled her facemask and dropped down to her knees to empty the contents of her stomach. Once her convulsions had for the most part subsided, Shepard quietly made her way over and placed one gloved hand on the other human's shoulder. “ You weren’t with me when we boarded the Collector ship.  You’ve… never run into anything like this before, have you ?”

“ Yeah.” Cautiously, shakily, Goto got to her feet. “I've broken into compounds before where the  mark had bodies stashed in their basement, but... nothing like... oh God, the freighter I took here, the compartments were soundproofed and they could lock them from the outside...” She started hyperventilating again, her dark eyes unfocused.

Shepard grabbed hold of her other shoulder and with some effort held her still. “Hey. _Look at me_. Right now we're on a job, and if we're going to get out of here in one piece I'm gonna need you to _concentrate_ on our _mission_. Can you do that for me, soldier?”

She nodded, and moved to reaffix her facemask. “I... I think so, yeah. Just leave me... leave me alone for a few minutes.”

Shepard stepped back, and when Kasumi stayed on her feet moved over to where Okeer and Teron were busy picking over one of the machines. “Hey. There's no reason for the Blood Pack to know those scavengers were here, so we should be OK if we stash the bodies somewhere out of the way and move on.” No one said anything for a moment, so Shepard quirked a thumb back to the section of the facility she was already starting to think of as the slave quarters. “You think they were the ones... responsible?”

Argovigian looked up and bobbed her head  _ no _ . “ I figure the Blood Pack were using this equipment to fix up  the armore d vehicles they apparently have \- or, I'd guess, those poor fucks in the back room were doing it for them. The Pack had to clear out in a hurry for some reason,  probably ‘cause of the search operation , and wherever they were going they  didn’t wanna drag  their workers along, so...” She trailed off. “Tuchanka was a shithole when I was here with the Suns, but I never thought it'd get  _ worse _ .”

“ Wait, you were in the  _ Blue Suns _ ?”

“ Uhh... yeah.” Teron's mandibles flicked in and out nervously. “I... don't wanna talk about it.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Now’s probably not the time.” Then she stepped back into the center of the assembly floor, consulting the map in the lower left corner of her visor. If she was reading it right, the salarian redoubt was only a few hundred meters from the far end of the industrial complex. “Ok, people. There's nothing left for us here, but if we hurry there _are_ a bunch of STG operatives pinned down we _might_ still be able to save. Grunt? Teron? Help me get those scavengers disposed of.”

* * *

No one spoke much as they made the rest of the hike to the STG fallback point: there simply wasn't anything more to say. Kasumi resumed scouting the alleys and streets ahead of them after hanging with the rest of the squad for a few hundred meters, although now she broadcast a green acknowledgment tag to Shepard's HUD every minute or so to let them know that she was still OK. Aside from a few scrawny varren they spotted pawing through a trash heap there was nobody to hide from and nothing to shoot; the crumbling cityscape around them was eerily devoid of intelligent life. Elizabeth wondered idly if the Blood Pack had evacuated it as part of their hunt for the salarians, or if its residents had left for some other reason-  there were claims that Urdnot Wreav had wiped out entire settlements in his quest to restore the United Clans, but of course people accused Wrex of the exact same things.

Finally, her HUD flashed yellow- they had arrived.

The salarians, as it turned out, were camped out in an old power station built _underneath_ this section of the nameless city. Most of the entrances had been sealed off not long after the end of the Rebellions and the place had quickly been forgotten; the only one that remained was a loading dock just below street level.

There were several downward ramps leading into various sublevels of the buildings in the immediate vicinity, and nearly all of them were blocked by decades of accumulated refuse. If it wasn't for the waypoint Kasumi had dropped, Shepard would never have been able to spot the one they were looking for- nonetheless, when she quietly moved a few discarded plasma cells just far enough out of the way to give her team room to squeeze through, another icon flashed onto her visor to inform her that she was being scanned and a few seconds later the heavy blast door ground open.

T he corridor inside was pitch black, too dark for even Shepard's enhanced vision to penetrate more than a few meters, and continued to slope downward at nearly a thirty-degree angle. Cautiously, weapon drawn, she stepped inside and motioned for the others to follow. As soon as they were a good meter from the entry it slid shut again; after a moment or two of absolute darkness dim orange emergency lighting flickered into activity on both of the side walls to reveal a grimy concrete tunnel piled with half-full cargo containers. Another blast door was at the far end- a second later it opened to reveal a distinctly salarian figure standing against a background too brightly lit for the Commander to immediately make out.

“I apologize for the... lackluster welcome ceremony, Commander, but I'm sure you understand we _cannot_ risk betraying our location.” The figure resolved into an older, greenish-skinned salarian wearing light armor patterned with gray urban camouflage. “Chief Science Officer Yanno Vaas, at your service.”

He beckoned with one three-fingered hand, and Shepard led her party out of the service tunnel into a large, open cavern illuminated by bluish emergency floodlights hung from the ceiling high above. Whatever  equipment had once occupied the  structure had been dismantled to clear the way for six or seven large spaces demarcated with thick transparent barriers- storage, armory,  cots , a small command and communications center, and several laboratory  worktops . Behind Shepard, Kasumi gave a low, appreciative whistle.

“ We were planning to make a break for one of the Blood Pack docking facilities to secure a ship of our own, but when we heard you might actually make it to us we decided to lock down the complex and wait for rescue.” Yanno took the lead in guiding them to the command center.  As they passed one of the laboratory setups, Kasumi gave Shepard a light tap on the forearm and quietly slipped away. Curiously, Okeer soon followed, muttering something incomprehensible about amino acids and ribosomes. Shepard  didn’t have time to ask him why as not long after the remains of her party  were being tailed at a respectful distance by ten or so other salarian operatives and- she paused, shaking her head to clear it- three  _ krogan _ : two males and a female, all of them wearing plain, loose-fitting green fatigues.

Grunt must have noticed them at about the same time . “Wrex's fighters,”  the  supersoldier muttered. “ What are  _ they _ doing here?”

“The same thing  Doctor Vaas is,”  The younger male with a bright red skullcrest stepped forward and as soon as he was within easy speaking distance twisted his wide mouth into a decent approximation of a smile. “Waiting for a ride off this planet.” The krogan's expression- he had a nametag on his uniform, but Shepard wasn't able to decipher the language- suddenly became solemn. “With the camp  at Blood Gulch gone, we’re the only opposition to Wreav and the Blood Pack left on this continent.  Maybe on the whole planet.  I figure we can either stick around to fight a losing battle  and almost certainly die horribly ,  _ or _ escape and try to gather more forces  offworld . I don't think we have a chance either way, but it's better than nothing I guess.”

Grunt just scowled. “Running from a fight? I thought you were supposed to be a _krogan_.”

“Well, that's why they called Grandfather Wrex a _reformer,_ ” The fighter laughed, half-bitterly and half with genuine humor. “Anyway, I’m Corporal Urdnot Krav. That’s Weyrlock Thurn, our demolitions and tech specialist-” he waved idly over to the female with a dull bronze skullplate, and in spite of the circumstances Elizabeth couldn't help but smile. According to the most reliable reports Urdnot Wreav only allowed krogan females to serve in combat capacities as part of closed, segregated units- the ‘Sisters of Battle’, they were called. Obviously the late Commander Wrex had thought differently. “- and our marksman just goes by Zeph.” The other male, smaller and somewhat gangly-looking for a krogan, briefly looked up from the bunk he was sitting on to give them a friendly wave. “I can’t wait to see the _Normandy_ \- is it true you’ve got an AI _and_ a geth onboard?”

* * *

 

Kasumi Goto was getting frustrated. She’d run industrial espionage jobs for biotech firms before and thus had pretty good reason to believe that the only place the entirety of the genophage data could really be _put_ was in the big standalone mainframe computer that occupied one corner of the lab she was currently in- and, probably not coincidentally, the salarians had already unlocked most of the physical security surrounding its data drives in preparation for transport. All she needed to do was get close enough to slip one of the drives out and replace it with another from the trash bin nearby; the data would be encrypted, of course, but once she got it off Tuchanka that would be Ren’zalgo vas Orpheon’s problem and he was very good at solving those. The lab partitions were mostly transparent and there were a good dozen other people in the room shooting occasional curious glances her way, but she was an experienced-enough pickpocket that they shouldn’t have been a problem- if it wasn’t for Gnalish Okeer. The krogan scientist wandered about like a kid in a toy shop, prodding and fiddling with every piece of equipment he came across and muttering what sounded like sections from a college biology textbook. It was damned odd -she’d spent enough time with Okeer to understand that while his knowledge of the wider galaxy was shot full of holes and he often got lost in his own jumbled memories, he was still mentally quite sharp. Kasumi found herself concerned that something was getting to him.

Then she saw him bump into the heavy-data mainframe and, while apparently struggling to right himself and put the cables coiled up against it back in some sort of order, switch the drive she was looking for with another that had been tucked in one of his ammunition pouches.

“You gonna tell me what you want with that?” Goto whispered.

“What I want with what, the centrifuge? It’s expensive, I hope the salarians don’t leave it behind.”

“No, I mean the chipset you just-”

Kasumi never got to finish her sentence before Okeer jabbed the barrel of his sniper rifle hard into her midsection and pulled the trigger.

* * *

 

Everyone in the cavern turned toward the sound of gunfire, staring in mute surprise as Kasumi Goto slumped back against the cracked lab partition with one hand pressed over the bloody gash in her side. Then Okeer and Grunt both slotted thermal clips into their rifles and began firing. Two of the STG operatives were not wearing their armor; they were cut down instantly. From what Elizabeth could see the others made it to safety with only minimal drainage to their shields but the krogan pair were already on the move, ducking from one island of machinery to another while spraying incendiary rounds at any motion.

Shepard tried to keep Okeer in the sights of her submachine gun as much as possible, even as her own shield indicator flashed at redline and she registered the bruising, paintball-like impacts of rounds chipping away at the armor underneath. Icons on her HUD showed Teron attempting to flank the two krogan from opposite directions and move into more effective firing range; Kasumi was up and moving and heading for another of the lab cubicles; off to her left she caught a glimpse of Yanno Vaas pressing a gel bandage to the throat of the female partisan with one hand even as he struggled to aim a scoped light pistol with the other. The shields of Grunt's expensive heavy armor finally began to flicker and dissipate, but by then he and Okeer were already just a few meters away from the exit.

She registered the orange glow of one of the krogan's omnis, and with a loud bang and shriek of wrenching metal the blast doors leading to the surface burst open from the outside. Shepard held her fire and strained her vision to discern movement through the dust cloud; before it could fully dissipate half a dozen vorcha in Blood Pack regalia burst out into the cavern firing madly.

“Looking for yer breakfast, ya dumb fucks? Come and get it!” Teron Argovigian stepped out from behind a partition and the vorcha immediately swerved towards her, shrieking obscenities. Calmly, the turian scout drew her shotgun and fired off eight rounds in quick succession, tearing them to pieces.

Shepard seized the momentary distraction and sprinted towards the door, heedless off the fresh gunfire rebounding against her still-recharging shields. By this point she could see into the entry corridor well enough to spot another skirmish line of vorcha heading inside, lead by a krogan in full body armor. Despite the ready availability of cover in the junk-filled passage they kept advancing in rigid lockstep, barely noticing as their comrades fell one after another to quick headshots from the STG operatives. Shepard opened fire while still on the move, concentrating on the krogan in the center of the formation. His shields flashed out of existence in response to one of Kasumi's trademark overvolted disruptor blasts, and a trio of sniper rounds bored into his head and chest. He toppled over, clutching weakly at what remained of his insides, and the vorcha began to fall back up the tunnel in a disorganized mass.

“Come on! He's getting away!” Shepard waved a gauntleted hand in a frantic come-here gesture. “Args, I need you on point with me! Vaas, check on Kasumi and then flank and support!” Her HUD flashed three green acknowledgment lights and she resumed her sprint down the corridor. In her peripheral vision she registered the immediate presence of black-and-indigo breaker camo, but also the drab gray-green uniforms of the krogan partisans.

Finally Shepard reached the end of the tunnel, dodging around stacks of cargo and puddles of vorcha blood. As soon as she stepped out into the open street her motion tracker lit up solid red/ Easily a hundred Blood Pack troops were swarming in from the city blocks to either side with no thought given to defensible positions or cover, more disembarking even as she watched from a trio of Mantis dropships. All of them were firing madly in the general direction of the power plant that held the STG compound. Immediately the Commander dropped back to cover behind the ring of rusted-out crates that formed a natural barricade around the entrance- perhaps, given the forethought displayed by the salarians, not entirely natural after all.

“Ok, new plan! Kas, stay down and see if you can locate a way out of here. Args, cut through those formations! Yanno, everyone else- focus on picking off the leaders!”

Elizabeth spared only an instant to check the acknowledgments in her HUD before continuing her scan of the mob through her Tempest's scope. She spared a few shots and a target locator for any battlemasters or marksmen she spotted, but they weren't her primary target. A hundred meters away and nearly dead ahead, she’d caught a glimpse of black and white among the Blood Pack red- Gnalish Okeer and Urdnot Grunt, both of them already standing on the open boarding ramp of a hovering gunship. She slipped a thermal clip into her weapon, flicked it from burst mode to full automatic, and squeezed the trigger.

Okeer's shields flashed blue, but he stood his ground as the ship started to gain altitude. “Shepard to _Normandy!_ I need you to break orbit and shoot down the Mantis heading away from us fifteen degrees east-northeast!” _,_ she yelled, but it was the doctor’s voice that echoed back to her helmet. 

“Nice try, but I already thought of that. It took a capital ship to kill you once... and that only slowed you down for two years. But this'll still be two years without Commander _fucking_ Shepard breathing down my neck. That should do just fine.” He gave a quick, friendly wave, the omnitool interface on his wrist still glowing bright orange through the dust and smoke as the hatch in front of him sealed shut. “Until next time, Elizabeth.”

“Rot in hell.” She kept firing, shifting her aim to one of the ship's external engine pods. Even at the extreme range most of her shots found their mark, but the gunship barely slowed down. Before she could find another thermal clip for her rapidly-overheating weapon, it had vanished over the crumbling skyline. Then the first artillery strike drilled clean through the two-story warehouse a block to Shepard's left, scattering bodies and rubble alike high into the dust-choked air.

* * *

* * *

** Author’s Notes: **

This chapter got  _written_ extremely quickly because large portions of it were reused from the original draft of the story; however when I sent it off to Archangel1207 to look over he found a  _lot_ of problems with it and so I wound up spending nearly as long revising it. One passage in particular I kind of agonized over for a couple of days and consulted like three other people about before ultimately deciding to cut; it may appear in retooled form somewhere later on but possibly not.

Yanno Vaas’s name comes courtesy of LOTD member BatJamags and a Batman ‘fic he found called “Love and Bullets” where the author kept spelling “y’know” as “yanno”. BatJamags joked that _“’Yanno’ sounds like some kind of alien from Star Wars. Like, I expect someone to walk out and be all, ‘I’m Jedi Master Yanno Vaz, may the Force be with you and stuff,’”_ and, with some slight modification and a change of setting, that is exactly what we got.


End file.
